ROWLAND-E-ROB1NSON 


LTBKARY 

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DAVIS 


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OUT   OF  BONDAGE 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


OUT   OF  BONDAGE 

AND   OTHER  STORIES 

BY 

ROWLAND  E.   ROBINSON 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

Jiibersi&c  press,  CambriDge 
1905 


LIBRARY 

TTKTVFPQTTV    OT7    r  AT  TT7r»r>XTT  A 


COPYRIGHT    1905   BY   ANNA   S.   ROBINSON,    ADMINISTRATRIX 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  February  IQOJ 


MANY  of  the  following  stories  first  appeared  in 
the  Atlantic  Monthly,  Forest  and  Stream,  The 
Vermonter,  St.  Nicholas,  Youth's  Companion,  and 
McClure's  Magazine,  and  are  here  reprinted  through 
the  courtesy  of  the  publishers  of  those  periodicals. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

OUT  OF  BONDAGE 1 

A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'Hio 48 

THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 66 

A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER     ....        89 

MclNTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 107 

A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 135 

AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          ....  149 

A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 172 

RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS 199 

THE  BUTTLES  GALS 218 

DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW  WORLD 234 

FOURTH  OF  JULY  AT  HIGHFIELD  POORHOUSE  .  .  245 
WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE  ....  263 
A  HOUSEWIFE'S  CALENDAR  .  .  .  .  .  277 

THE  GOODWIN  SPRING 286 

THE  MOLE'S  PATH 294 

THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY        ....  314 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE 


FRIEND  LEMUEL  VARNEY  urged  his  well-condi- 
tioned but  tired  mare  along  the  highway  with  a 
more  impatient  voice  than  he  was  wont  to  use ;  for 
the  track  was  heavy  with  the  deep,  unbeaten  snow 
of  a  recent  storm,  and  Lemuel  was  in  a  hurry  to 
deliver  an  article  of  value  which  had  been  intrusted 
to  his  care.  Except  that  the  article  was  somewhat 
bulky,  nothing  could  have  been  guessed  of  its 
character  from  the  irregular  rounded  form  vaguely 
shown  by  the  buffalo  skin  which  covered  it  and  the 
legs  of  the  driver,  —  and  for  the  latter  it  left  none 
too  much  room  in  the  ample  bread-tray-shaped  body 
of  the  sleigh.  The  high  back  of  this  conveyance 
hid  from  rearward  observation  all  the  contents 
except  Lemuel's  head,  over  which  was  drawn,  for 
the  protection  of  his  ears,  a  knit  woolen  cap  of 
un-Quakerly  red,  —  a  flagrant  breach  of  discipline 
which  was  atoned  for  by  the  broad  brim  and  the 
hard  discomfort  of  the  drab  beaver  hat  which  sur- 
mounted and  overshadowed  it. 

The  light  of  the  brief  winter  day,  further  abbre- 
viated by  a  cloudy  sky,  was  fading,  and  the  pallid 
dusk  of  the  longer  night  was  creeping  over  the 


2  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

landscape,  blurring  the  crests  of  woodlands  against 
the  sky,  blending  their  nearer  borders  with  the 
dimmed  whiteness  of  the  fields,  and  turning  stacks, 
barns,  and  isolated  groups  of  trees  to  vague,  un- 
distinguishable  blots  upon  the  fields,  whose  fences 
trailed  away  into  obscurity. 

Friend  Lemuel  carefully  scanned  the  wayside  for 
landmarks  by  which  to  note  his  progress,  but  looked 
more  anxiously  behind  when  the  jingle  of  sleigh- 
bells  approaching  from  that  direction  struck  his 
ear.  It  was  a  pleasant  and  cheerful  discord  of  high 
and  low  pitched  tones  of  Boston  bells,  but  it  seemed 
to  have  a  disquieting  effect  upon  his  accustomed 
placidity. 

"  There  comes  the  stage,  sure  enough.  I  did  hope 
I  could  git  tu  where  we  turn  off  tu  Zeb'lon's  afore 
it  come  along,"  he  said,  with  some  show  of  irrita- 
tion, and  not  quite  as  if  speaking  to  himself  or  to 
the  mare,  which  he  now  addressed  as  he  vigorously 
shook  the  reins  :  "  Do  git  up,  thee  jade,  why  don't 
thee  ?  I  say  for  it,  if  I  had  a  whip,  I  should  be  al- 
most tempted  tu  snap  it  at  thee.  But  I  know  thee 's 
tired,  poor  creatur',  and  I  had  n't  ort  tu  blame  thee, 
if  I  be  tried." 

In  response  to  the  threat  or  the  expression  of 
sympathy  the  mare  mended  her  pace,  as  Lemuel 
cast  another  glance  behind  and  saw  the  stage  and 
its  four  horses,  vaguely  defined,  moving  briskly 
down  the  descending  road.  He  slightly  raised  the 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  3 

edge  of  the  buffalo,  and,  bending  toward  it,  said  in 
a  low  voice,  "  Thee  'd  better  fill  thyself  up  with  fresh 
air  as  quick  as  thee  can,  for  the  stage  is  comin', 
and  I  shall  have  tu  cover  thee  pretty  clust  till  it  gits 
past." 

There  was  a  slight  movement  under  the  robe,  but 
nothing  became  visible  except  some  quickly  recur- 
ring puffs  of  vapor  steaming  out  upon  the  cold  air. 
After  a  moment  Lemuel  replaced  the  robe  and  gave 
it  a  cautionary  pat.  "  Now  thee  must  keep  clust, 
for  there  's  no  tellin'  who  may  be  a-lookin'  at  us 
out  o'  that  stage." 

The  stage-sleigh,  roofed  and  curtained,  was  close 
behind  him,  the  muffled  driver  shouting  imperative 
orders  to  the  private  conveyance  to  get  out  of  the 
road.  Lemuel  pulled  his  mare  out  of  the  track  at 
some  risk  of  a  capsize,  for  the  packing  of  successive 
snowfalls  had  raised  the  beaten  path  considerably 
above  the  general  level  of  the  road. 

"  Git  aout  o'  the  road,  oP  stick-in-the-mud !  "  the 
driver  called,  as  his  horses  came  to  a  walk  and  the 
merry  jangle  of  the  bells  fell  to  a  soberer  chime. 

44  Thee  '11  hafter  give  me  a  little  time,"  Lemuel 
urged  mildly  ;  "  it 's  consid'able  sidelin',  an'  I  dare 
say,  if  thee  had  a  bag  of  pertaters  in  thy  sleigh, 
thee  would  n't  want  'em  upsot  in  the  snow,  this  cold 
night." 

"  Oh,  blast  your  'taters ! "  the  other  said. 
"  What 's  'taters  compared  tu  the  United  States 


4  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

mail  I  've  got  under  my  laigs  ?  "  And  then,  in  bet- 
ter humor  as  the  bread-tray  sleigh,  after  a  ponder- 
ous tilt,  regained  its  equilibrium,  "  There,  I  c'n  git 
by  naow,  if  ye  '11  take  off  your  hat  an'  turn  it  up 
aidgeways.  Say,"  continuing  his  banter  in  a  tone 
intended  only  for  the  Quaker's  ear,  as  he  leaned 
toward  him  from  his  lofty  perch  and  cast  a  scrutin- 
izing glance  upon  the  sleigh,  "  your  'taters  hain't 
Niggertoes,  be  they  ?  " 

Lemuel  gave  an  involuntary  upward  look  of  sur- 
prise, but  answered  quietly,  as  the  driver  touched 
the  leaders  with  his  long  lash  and  the  heavy  pas- 
senger sleigh  swept  past,  "  No ;  Long  Johns." 

He  was  chuckling  inwardly  at  the  hidden  meaning 
of  his  ready  answer  as  the  mare  climbed  the  bank 
to  regain  the  track  at  a  steeper  place  than  she  had 
left  it,  when  the  lurching  sleigh  lost  its  balance  and 
turned  over  upon  its  side,  tumbling  out  all  its  con- 
tents into  the  snow.  Lemuel  was  upon  his  feet  al- 
most instantly,  holding  up  the  frightened  mare  with 
a  steady  hand  and  soothing  her  with  a  gentle  voice, 
while  the  buffalo  robe  seemed  imbued  with  sudden 
life,  tossing  and  heaving  in  strange  commotion  as 
a  smothered,  alarmed  voice  issued  from  it :  "  'Fore 
de  Lawd,  marse,  is  we  done  busted  ?  "  and  then  the 
voice  broke  in  a  racking  cough. 

"  Keep  quiet,  John,"  Friend  Lemuel  said  in  a 
low  tone, "  an'  git  behind  the  sleigh  as  quick  as  thee 
can.  The  stage  hain't  out  o'  sight."  As  he  righted 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  5 

the  sleigh,  a  tall,  stalwart  negro,  creeping  from  un- 
der the  robe,  took  shelter  behind  the  high  back  till 
the  path  was  regained,  and  then  resumed  his  place 
and  was  again  covered  by  the  robe. 

"  'Fore  de  Lawd,  Marse  Varney,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely,  venturing  his  head  a  little  above  the  robe, 
"  I  was  dat  skeered  I 's  jus'  shook  to  pieces." 

"  John,"  exclaimed  Lemuel  with  severity,  "  thee 
must  n't  call  me  or  any  other  man  4  master,'  as  I  've 
told  thee  more  than  once.  I  am  thy  friend  and 
brother,  and  thee  must  n't  call  me  anything  else." 

"  'Pears  like  I  could  n't  get  useter  dat  away,  no- 
how, Marse  Frien'  Varney." 

"  But  thee  will,"  said  Lemuel  decidedly,  "  when 
thee  gets  used  tu  the  fact  that  thee  is  thy  own  mas- 
ter, with  no  one  over  thee  but  thy  Heavenly  Father, 
the  Lord  and  Master  of  the  highest  and  the  lowest 
of  mortals.  Now  take  a  doste  of  this  hive  surrup 
an'  cover  up  thy  head,  for  this  cold  air  won't  help 
thy  cough  a  mite."  So  saying,  he  drew  forth  a  vial 
from  the  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  tight-fitting  sur- 
tout  and  held  it  to  the  negro's  lips,  then  covered  his 
head  carefully,  and  urged  forward  the  tired  mare. 

II 

"  What  was  it  you  were  saying  to  that  old  chap 
about  niggahs  ? "  asked  a  dark,  keen-eyed  man 
who  shared  the  box  with  the  stage-driver. 

44  Niggers  ?  Oh,  Nrggertoes  was  what  I  said,"  the 


6  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

driver  laughed,  and  went  on  to  explain :  "  That 's 
the  name  of  a  kin'  o'  'taters  they  hev  raound  here. 
Pooty  good  kind  o'  'taters  they  be,  tew,  —  good 
yielders,  an'  cook  up  mealy ;  but  some  folks  spleen 
agin  'em  'caount  o'  the'  bein'  black,  but  I  don't. 
I  've  knowed  some  tol'able  dark-complected  folks  — 
yes,  rael  niggers  —  'at  was  pooty  good  sorter  folks." 

"  Co'se,"  assented  the  passenger.  "  Niggahs  are 
all  right  in  their  place.  I  would  n't  object  to  ownin' 
a  hundred  likely  boys." 

"  Wai,"  considered  the  driver,  "  I  do'  know 
ezackly  'baout  ownin'  so  many  folks.  One's  'baout 
all  I  c'n  manage,  an'  he  's  gin  me  consid'able  trouble 
sen  I  come  of  age.  Ownin'  other  folks  kin'  o'  goes 
agin  my  Yankee  grain."  Hearing  no  answer,  he  re- 
curred to  the  opening  of  the  conversation :  "  That 
was  ol'  Uncle  Lem  Varney,  an'  I  was  jes'  a-jokin' 
on  him  a  leetle.  They  say  'at  he  hes  dealin's  wi' 
the  undergraoun'  railroad,  an'  I  was  try  in'  tu  make 
him  think  'at  I  s'mised  he  hed  a  runaway  nigger  'n 
under  his  buffalo,  but  I  hed  n't  no  sech  a  idee." 

The  traveler  turned  in  his  seat  and  looked  back 
interestedly,  while  the  driver  continued  :  — 

"  I  do'  know  's  I  should  keer  if  he  hed,  fer  ker- 
ryin'  that  kind  o'  passengers  don't  interfere  much 
wi'  my  business.  The'  was  tew  on  'em,  though,  on 
my  stage  las'  summer,  jest  the  cutest.  One  on  'em 
was  as  light-complected  as  what  you  be,  an'  a  turri- 
ble  genteel  lookin'  an'  actin'  feller,  an'  he  made 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  7 

b'lieve  he  was  master  tu  t'  other  one,  which  he  was 
so  black  a  coal  would  make  a  white  mark  on  him  ; 
an'  they  rid  right  along  as  grand  as  Cufly,  nob'dy 
s'pectin'  nothin'  till  a  week  arter.  Then  they  was 
arter  'em,  hot-foot,  f 'm  away  daown  tu  Virginny  ; 
but  Lord  !  they  was  safe  beyund  Canerdy  line  days 
afore." 

"And  you  people  gen'ally  favor  that  sort  o' 
thing?  "  the  stranger  asked. 

"  Wai,  no,  not  tu  say  favor.  The  gen'al  run 
don't  bother  'emselves  one  way  ner  t'  other,  don't 
help  ner  hender ;  an'  then  agin,  the'  's  some  'at  's 
mean  'nough  tu  du  anythin'  fer  pay." 

"  And  they  help  the  niggahs  ?  "  suggested  the 
traveler. 

"Bless  ye,  no.  They  help  the  ketchers;  the' 
hain't  no  money  in  helpin'  niggers." 

The  other  only  said  "  H-m-m  "  in  a  tone  that 
might  imply  doubt  or  assent,  and  seemed  inclined 
to  drop  the  conversation,  and  the  driver,  after  men- 
tally wondering  for  some  time,  commented,  "  One 
of  them  blasted  Southerners."  The  stranger's 
speech  was  unfamiliar,  softening  the  r's  too  much 
for  a  Yankee  of  the  Champlain  Valley,  and  not  as 
deliberately  twisting  the  vowels  as  a  Yankee  of  any 
sort  does,  but  giving  them  an  illusive  turn  that  type 
cannot  capture,  midway  between  the  nasal  drawl  of 
the  New  Englander  and  the  unctuous  roll  of  the 
New  Yorker. 


8  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

The  lights  of  a  little  hamlet  began  to  glimmer 
along  the  dusky  road,  and  presently  the  steaming 
horses  were  haloed  in  the  broad  glare  of  the  tavern 
barroom  and  came  to  a  halt  before  the  wide  stoop, 
where  the  bareheaded  landlord  and  lantern-bearing 
hostlers  bustled  forth,  with  a  more  leisurely  follow- 
ing of  loungers,  to  welcome  an  arrival  that  lost  no- 
thing in  interest  or  importance  through  semi-daily 
occurrence. 

The  driver  threw  down  the  mail-bag,  tossed  the 
reins  to  a  hostler,  and,  clambering  from  his  seat, 
stamped  straightway  into  the  barroom.  The  land- 
lord opened  the  door  of  the  coach,  and  invited  the 
passengers  to  alight  while  the  horses  were  changed, 
—  an  invitation  which  was  accepted  with  alacrity 
by  all.  He  ushered  them  into  the  welcome  indoor 
warmth,  closed  the  door  behind  the  last  guest,  and 
fell  to  feeding  the  fire  within  the  huge  box  stove 
with  a  generous  supply  of  wood.  With  this  clat- 
ter and  the  roar  of  the  opened  draught  he  mingled 
comments  on  the  weather  and  words  of  hospitable 
intent,  and  then  made  the  most  of  the  brief  time  to 
learn  what  he  might  of  his  guests,  whence  coming 
and  whither  going,  according  to  the  custom  of  land- 
lords in  those  days,  when  the  country  tavern  had 
neither  the  name  nor  the  register  of  a  hotel. 

The  outside  passenger  invited  the  company  to 
drink  at  his  expense,  and  every  one  accepted  save  a 
stalwart  Washingtonian  ;  for  it  was  before  the  days 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  9 

of  prohibition,  when  many  otherwise  goodly  people 
drank  unadulterated  liquor  publicly  in  Vermont 
inns,  without  shame  or  fear  of  subpoenas.  The 
stranger  called  for  Bourbon,  to  the  bewilderment 
of  Landlord  Manum. 

"Borebone?  That  must  be  some  furrin  drink, 
suthin'  like  Bord  O,  mebby  ?  "  he  queried,  with  a 
puzzled  face,  half  resentful  of  a  joke. 

"  Never  heard  of  Boobon  whiskey,  sir,  the  best 
whiskey  in  the  wauld,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Wai,  if  it 's  good  whiskey  you  want,  I  've  got 
some  Monongerhely  'at 's  ten  year  ol' ;  "  and  the 
stranger  accepted  the  compromise  with  a  look  of 
approval,  while  each  of  the  others,  according  to 
taste  or  predilection,  warmed  his  interior  with  Med- 
ford,  Jamaica,  gin,  brandy,  or  wine. 

Then  the  driver  began  to  muffle  his  head  in  a 
voluminous  comforter  and  slowly  to  draw  on  his 
gloves,  and  when  he  announced,  "  Stage  ready, 
gentlemen,"  there  was  a  general  exodus  of  the  com- 
pany, but  the  outside  passenger  did  not  remount 
to  his  place. 

"  Just  chuck  me  my  valise.  I  reckon  I'll  stop 
heah  a  day  or  so." 

A  cylindrical  leathern  portmanteau,  such  as  was 
in  common  use  by  horseback  travelers,  was  tossed 
down  upon  the  stoop.  The  driver  tucked  himself 
in,  gathered  up  the  reins,  cracked  his  whip,  and 
with  a  sudden  creak  the  sleigh  started  on  its  course 


10  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

and  went  jangling  away  into  the  dusk.  The  land- 
lord and  the  hostlers  watched  it  intently,  as  if  to 
assure  themselves  of  its  actual  departure  ;  then  of 
one  accord  retreated  from  the  outer  chill  into  the 
warmth  of  the  barroom.  The  host  helped  the  guest 
to  rid  himself  of  his  overcoat  and  hung  it  on  a 
hook,  where  it  impartially  covered  the  last  sum- 
mer's advertisements  of  the  Champlain  steamers 
and  of  a  famous  Morgan  stallion.  The  three  or 
four  remaining  idlers  resumed  their  accustomed 
places.  The  hostlers  diffused  an  odor  of  the  sta- 
ble as  they  divested  themselves  of  their  coats  and 
began  their  ablutions  at  the  corner  sink,  where  a 
soiled  roller  towel  and  the  common  comb  and  brush, 
attached  to  a  nail  by  a  long  string,  hung  on  opposite 
sides  of  a  corrugated  little  looking-glass.  The 
landlord  closed  the  draught  of  the  stove,  subduing 
its  roar  to  a  whisper,  and  then  blew  out  one  of  the 
lights.  The  other  two  seemed  to  burn  more  dimly, 
the  smoky  atmosphere  grew  heavier,  and  the  room 
took  on  again  its  wonted  air  of  dull  expectancy 
that  rarely  received  a  higher  realization  than  the 
slightly  varied  excitements  of  the  stage  arrivals. 

Having  performed  all  other  duties,  the  landlord, 
who  was  also  postmaster,  now  took  the  mail-bag 
from  the  floor,  where  it  had  been  tossed  and  had 
remained  an  object  of  secondary  interest,  carried 
it  into  the  office  adjoining  the  bar,  and  began  a 
deliberate  sorting  of  the  mail,  curiously  watched 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  11 

through  the  narrow  loopholes  of  the  boxes  by  sev- 
eral of  the  loungers.  The  Washingtonian  drummed 
persistently  on  the  window  of  his  box  till  he  was 
given  his  copy  of  the  county  paper,  which  he  at 
once  began  reading,  after  comfortably  seating  him- 
self, with  legs  at  full  length,  on  the  bunk  which 
was  a  table  by  day,  a  bed  by  night.  Others  re- 
ceiving their  papers  pocketed  them  to  await  more 
leisurely  digestion  at  home.  One  who  was  given 
an  unexpected  letter  studied  the  postmark  and  ad- 
dress a  long  time,  trying  to  guess  from  whom  it 
came,  and  then  putting  it  in  his  pocket  still  sat 
guessing,  oblivious  of  the  conversation  going  on 
about  him. 

A  traveler  who  "  treated "  was  one  whose  ac- 
quaintance was  worth  cultivating  by  the  barroom 
loungers,  and  they  had  already  made  some  progress 
in  that  direction  when  the  landlord's  announcement 
of  supper  dispersed  them  reluctantly  to  their  own 
waiting  meals,  from  which  they  returned  as  soon  as 
might  be,  with  reinforcements. 

The  free-handed  stranger  gave  them  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  a  Pennsylvanian,  making  a  win- 
ter tour  of  the  Northern  States  and  Canada  for 
pleasure  and  enlargement  of  information,  and  he 
quite  won  their  hearts  by  his  generous  praise  of 
their  State,  its  thrift,  its  Morgan  horses,  its  merino 
sheep,  and  especially  the  bracing  subarctic  atmos- 
phere, in  which  all  true  Vermonters  take  pride. 


12  OUT   OF  BONDAGE 

The  Washingtonian,  still  sitting  on  the  bunk, 
was  so  absorbed  in  the  county  paper,  read  by  the 
light  of  the  small  whale-oil  lamp,  that  he  took  no 
part  in  the  conversation  till  he  had  finished  the  last 
item  of  news  and  glanced  over  the  probate  notices. 
Then  he  laid  the  paper  across  his  outstretched  legs 
and  took  off  his  spectacles,  but  kept  both  in  hand 
for  the  contingency  of  immediate  need,  as  he  re- 
marked, with  an  inclusive  glance  of  the  company, 
"  Wai,  it  does  beat  all  haow  they  be  a-agitatin' 
slav'ry,  an'  what  efforts  they  be  a-makin'  to  dia- 
bolish  it.  They  've  ben  a-hevin'  a  anti-slav'ry  con- 
vention up  to  Montpelier,  an'  they  raised  a  turrible 
rookery  an5  clean  broke  it  up.  I  jest  ben  a-readin' 
a  piece  abaout  it  here  in  the  paper." 

"  Sarved  'em  right,"  declared  a  big,  burly,  red- 
faced  fellow  who  occupied  a  place  by  the  stove 
opposite  the  stranger.  "Blast  the  cussed  Aber- 
litionists ;  they  'd  ort  tu  be  'bleeged  tu  quit  med- 
dlin'  wi'  other  folks'  business." 

"  Wai,  I  do'  know,"  said  the  reader,  laying  aside 
the  paper  and  putting  his  spectacles  into  his  pocket 
as  he  swung  his  legs  off  the  bunk.  "  It 's  a  free 
country,  an'  folks  has  got  a  right  to  tell  what  they 
think,  an'  to  argy,  an'  hev  the'  argyments  met  wi' 
argyments.  Rotten  aigs  hain't  argyments,  Hiel." 

"  Good  'nough  argyments  fer  cussed  nigger- 
stealin'  Aberlitionists,"  Hiel  declared,  "a-inter- 
ferin'  wi'  other  folks'  prop'ty." 


OUT   OF   BONDAGE  13 

"  Sho,  Hiel,  they  hain't  interferin'  wi'  nobody's 
prop'ty.  They  b'lieve  it  hain't  right  to  hoi'  slaves, 
an'  they  say  so,  —  that 's  all,"  the  other  replied. 

"Don't  they?"  Hiel  sneered.  "They're  al'ys 
a-coaxin'  niggers  tu  run  away,  an'  a-helpin'  on  'em 
steal  'emselves,  which  is  the  same  as  stealin'.  Look 
of  ol'  Quaker  Barclay  over  here,  Jacup  Wright. 
I  '11  bet  he  everiges  a  dozen  runaway  niggers  hid 
in  his  haouse  ev'y  year  'at  goes  over  his  head. 
Damn  him !  he  don't  du  nothin'  else  only  go  tu 
nigger- huggin'  Boberlition  meetin's." 

"  Exceptin'  when  he  's  a-raisin'  subscriptierns  to 
git  caows  fer  folks  'at's  lost  theirn,"  said  Jacob 
quietly. 

"  I  never  ast  him  tu  raise  no  'scriptierns  fer  me, 
a  caow,"  said  Hiel  James  quickly. 

"  He  done  it  jest  the  same,  a-headin'  on  't  wi' 
five  dollars,"  Jacob  replied. 

"Wai,  if  folks  is  a  mineter  gi'  me  a  caow,  I 
hain't  fool  'nough  tu  refuse  it,"  Hiel  said,  dismiss- 
ing the  subject  with  a  coarse  laugh.  "  Blast  the 
runaway  niggers!  Let  'em  stay  where  they  b'long. 
I'd  livser  help  ketch  'em  an'  take  'em  back  'an 
tu  help  'em  git  away." 

"  Oh,  sho,  Hiel !  No,  you  would  n't  nuther, 
Hiel !  That  would  be  pooty  mean  business  fer  a 
V'monter.  'T  hain't  never  ben  in  their  line  to  send 
slaves  back  to  the'  masters." 

During  the  conversation  a  stalwart  young  man 


14  OUT   OF  BONDAGE 

had  entered  the  room,  and  after  including  the  com- 
pany in  a  common  salutation,  he  got  his  mail  from 
the  office,  and  stood  at  the  bar  to  read  a  letter. 
He  had  a  brave,  handsome  face,  and  his  well-formed 
figure  was  clad  in  garments  of  finer  fashion,  more 
easily  worn,  than  was  the  wont  of  young  farmers. 
Yet  a  shrewd  guess  would  place  him  as  a  prosperous 
member  of  that  class.  He  took  no  part  in  the  con- 
versation nor  gave  it  apparent  heed,  yet  joined  in 
the  genera]  murmur  of  approval  with  which  Jacob's 
remark  was  received  by  all  but  the  non-committal 
landlord,  the  silent  stranger,  whose  keen,  deliber- 
ate eyes  roved  over  the  company,  and  Hiel,  who 
stoutly  asserted,  "  I  'd  jest  as  soon  du  it  as  send  a 
stray  hoss  er  critter  back  tu  the'  owner.  Yis,  sir, 
jest  as  soon  aim  a  dollar  a-ketchin'  a  nigger  as  any 
other  sort  o'  prop'ty." 

"  I  think  you  would,  Hiel,"  said  the  newcomer,  in 
a  tone  that  for  all  its  quietness  did  not  conceal  con- 
tempt ;  and  then  he  went  out,  and  his  sleigh-bells 
were  already  jingling  out  of  hearing  when  Kiel's 
slow  retort  was  uttered  :  — 

"  That  'ere  Bob  Ransom  cuts  consid'able  of  a 
swath,  but  he  '11  be  consid'able  older  'n  he  is 
naow  'fore  he  gits  ol'  Quaker  Barclay's  darter. 
Ketch  him  lettin'  his  gal  marry  anybody  aoutside 
o'  the  Quaker  an'  Boberlition  ring." 

In  some  way,  the  brawny,  cparse-featured  Hiel 
seemed  more  than  others  to  attract  the  regard  of 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  15 

the  stranger,  who  held  him  in  casual  conversation 
till  the  rest  had  departed,  and  warmed  his  heart 
with  a  parting  glass  of  the  landlord's  most  potent 

liquor. 

Ill 

The  stage-coach  had  left  Lemuel  far  behind 
when  he  turned  into  a  less  frequented  road,  which 
led  him,  after  a  mile  of  uninterrupted  plodding,  to 
a  group  of  farm-buildings  that  flanked  it  on  either 
side,  and  clustered  about  a  great  square  unpainted 
house.  From  the  unshuttered  lower  windows  broad 
bands  of  light  shone  hospitably  forth  into  the  dim 
whiteness,  revealing  here  the  furrows  of  a  newly 
beaten  track,  there  a  white-capped  hitching-post, 
and  above,  a  shining  square  of  snowy  shed-roof, 
beneath  which  the  mare  made  her  way  without 
guiding.  Lemuel,  disembarking  noiselessly,  looked 
cautiously  about  before  he  uncovered  his  passenger, 
and  whispered  to  him  to  follow  into  the  stable, 
whither  he  led  as  one  familiar  with  the  place  even 
in  the  darkness.  Opening  the  door  of  an  inclosed 
stall,  and  assuring  himself  by  feeling  that  it  was 
filled  with  straw,  he  gently  pushed  the  negro  in. 

"  Now  thee  cover  thyself  up  an'  keep  still  till 
thee  hears  thy  name  called.  Put  this  medicine  in 
thy  pocket,  and  don't  let  thyself  cough.  Thee '11 
be  made  comfortable  as  soon  as  possible,  but  thee 
must  be  patient." 

With  these  whispered  injunctions  Lemuel  silently 


16  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

closed  the  door  upon  his  charge,  and,  after  blanket- 
ing the  mare,  entered  the  house  without  other  an- 
nouncement than  the  stamping  of  his  snowy  feet. 
The  family  were  at  supper  in  the  large  kitchen, 
which  was  full  of  the  light  and  warmth  of  a  wide 
fireplace,  and  the  savor  of  wholesome  fare  that  the 
chilled  and  hungry  guest  sniffed  with  appreciative 
foretaste. 

Zebulon  Barclay,  a  man  of  staid,  benevolent 
mien,  with  kindly  keen  gray  eyes,  sat  at  the  board 
opposite  Deborah,  his  wife,  a  portly  woman,  whose 
calm  face,  no  less  kindly  than  his  own,  wore  the 
tranquil  dignity  of  self -conquest  and  assured  peace 
of  soul.  Beside  her  sat  their  daughter  Ruth,  like  her 
mother  in  feature,  and  with  promise  of  the  attain- 
ment of  the  maternal  serenity  in  her  bright  young 
face,  yet  with  some  harmless  touches  of  worldly 
vanity  in  the  fashion  of  her  dress.  There  were  also 
Julia,  the  hired  girl,  a  brisk  spinster  of  thirty-five, 
and  Jerome,  the  hired  man,  a  restless-eyed  Cana- 
dian, both  of  whom  were  of  the  world's  people  ;  the 
one  shocked  their  employers  by  her  levity,  and  the 
other  with  his  mild  profanity. 

"  How  does  thee  do,  Deb'ry  ?  "  said  the  visitor, 
advancing  straight  to  the  matron  with  outstretched 
hand,  as  she  turned  in  her  seat  and  recognized  him. 
"  Keep  thy  settin',  keep  thy  settin ',  "  he  protested 
against  her  rising  to  greet  him,  and  then  bustled 
around  to  Zebulon,  who  arose  to  give  him  welcome, 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  17 

and  a.  glance  of  intelligence  passed  between  him 
and  his  wife  which  the  daughter  caught  and  under- 
stood. 

"  Why,  Lemuel,"  said  the  host  heartily,  "  how 
does  thee  do?  And  how  are  Rebecca  and  the 
children  ?  " 

As  Lemuel  replied  he  mumbled  in  an  undertone, 
"I  left  a  package  in  the  stable  for  thee." 

"Oh,  Rebecca  is  well,  is  she?"  Zebulon  re- 
marked with  satisfaction,  and  without  apparent 
notice  of  the  other  information.  "  And  is  it  a  gen- 
eral time  of  health  among  Friends  in  your  quarter  ? 
Well,  lay  off  thy  greatcoat,  and  have  some  supper 
as  soon  as  thee  's  warm  enough.  Jerome  will  put 
out  thy  horse  directly." 

Lemuel  hesitated,  but  began  the  arduous  task  of 
getting  off  his  tight  surtout  as  the  Canadian  arose 
from  the  table  and  took  the  tin  lantern  from  its 
hook. 

"  I  b'lieve  I  hain't  seen  thee  afore,  Jerome.  Is 
thee  tol'able  well  ?  And  I  say  for  it,  if  that  hain't 
thee,  Julia !  Thee  stays  right  by,  don't  thee  ?  Wai, 
that 's  clever."  He  paused  in  the  struggle  with  his 
surtout,  when  the  Canadian  went  out,  to  ask,  with 
a  nod  toward  the  door  that  had  closed  behind  him, 
44  Is  he  a  safe  person,  Zeb'lon  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  quite  clear,  but  I  fear  not,"  said  Zeb- 
ulon, laying  hold  of  the  stubborn  coat.  "  We  '11  be 
on  our  guard.  While  he  's  out,  Ruth,  thee  'd  better 


18  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

carry  some  victuals  up  to  the  room,  and  when  he 
comes  in  I  '11  get  him  out  of  the  way  till  we  get 
our  package  upstairs.  Has  thee  had  it  in  thy  keep- 
ing long,  Lemuel  ?  " 

"  Goin'  on  a  week,  an'  would  ha'  ben  glad  tu  a 
spell  longer,  for  he 's  got  a  turrible  cold  an'  cough, 
but  we  'spected  they  was  sarchin'  for  him,  an'  we 
dassent  keep  him  no  longer,  an'  so  I  started  at  four 
o'clock  this  mornin' ;  an'  I  tell  thee,  I  found  tough 
travelin'  most  o'  the  way." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  thee  's  got  here  safe,  Lemuel. 
Now  sit  right  down  to  thy  supper.  Thee  '11  have  a 
chance  to  step  out  and  bring  in  thy  goods." 

The  Canadian  entered  hastily  and  in  evident 
trepidation.  "  Say,  Mesieu  Barcle,"  he  burst  out, 
"  you  s'pose  ghos'  can  cough,  prob'ly  ?  " 

"  What 's  thee  talking  about,  Jerome  ?  "  Zebu- 
Ion  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yas,  sah,  bah  jinjo,  Ah  'm  was  hear  nowse  in 
de  barn  zhus'  sem  lak  somebody  cough,  an'  Ah 
b'lieve  he  was  ghos'  of  dat  hoi'  man  come  dead  for 
'sumption  on  de  village  las'  week  'go." 

"  Nonsense,  Jerome ;  it  was  a  cat  sneezing  that 
thee  heard.  Don't  put  out  the  lantern,  but  come 
down  cellar  with  me  and  get  some  small  potatoes 
for  the  sheep." 

"  Cat  ?  Bah  gosh,  you  '11  got  cat  sneeze  lak  dat, 
Ah'm  ant  want  for  hear  it  yaller,  me,"  Jerome 
retorted,  as  he  led  the  way  down  cellar. 


OUT   OF  BONDAGE  19 

Lemuel's  hand  was  on  the  latch,  when  there  was 
a  sound  of  arriving  sleigh-bells. 

"  What  be  we  goin'  tu  du  ?  "  he  asked,  turning 
a  troubled  face  to  the  women.  "  That  poor  crea- 
tur'  must  n't  stay  aout  in  the  cold  no  longer. 
Who  's  that  a-comin'  in,  wi'  bells  on  the'  horse  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Ruth,  blushing  red  as  a  rose. 
"  I  can  bring  the  man  in  safe." 

"  Oh,  it 's  some  friend  of  thine  that 's  come  ?  " 
Lemuel  asked  ;  but  the  shrewd  twinkle  of  his  eyes 
showed  that  he  needed  no  answer.  "  Well,  go  intu 
the  box  stall  and  call  for  John,  and  bring  in  the 
one  who  answers*." 

Ruth  hastily  put  on  a  hood  and  shawl  and  went 
out.  A  tall  figure  advanced  from  the  shed  to  meet 
her  with  outstretched  hands,  which  she  clasped  for 
an  instant  as  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Don't  speak 
to  me.  Don't  see  me,  nor  any  one  I  may  have  with 
me ;  and  wait  a  little  before  thee  comes  in,  Rob- 
ert," and  she  disappeared  in  the  dark  shadows  of 
the  building. 

Presently  she  came  out  with  the  shivering  negro 
almost  crouching  behind  her,  and  led  him  into  the 
house.  In  the  kitchen  her  naother  met  him  with  an 
assuring  word  of  welcome,  and  guided  him  from  it 
so  quickly  into  a  narrow  staircase  that  it  seemed 
to  the  others  as  if  they  had  seen  but  a  passing 
shadow,  gone  before  they  could  catch  form  or  fea- 
ture. 


20  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

When  Zebulon  Barclay  returned  from  the  cel- 
lar, Lemuel  was  quietly  eating  his  supper,  waited 
upon  by  the  nimble-handed  Julia,  Ruth  sat  by  the 
fireplace  in  decorous,  low-voiced  conversation  with 
Robert  Ransom,  and  the  quiet  room  gave  no  hint 
of  a  recent  unaccustomed  presence.  Lemuel  pushed 
aside  his  plate  and  supped  the  last  draught  of  tea 
from  his  saucer  with  a  satisfied  sigh  before  he 
found  time  for  much  conversation. 

"  I  s'pose  thee  's  heard  what  turrible  goin's-on 
the  anti-slavery  meetin'  hed  tu  Montpelier,  Zeb'- 
lon?"  he  asked. 

"  Heard  ?  "  his  friend  replied,  his  calm  face  flush- 
ing and  his  eyes  kindling.  "  I  saw  it  with  my  own 
eyes,  and  a  shameful  sight  it  was  to  see  in  the  capi- 
tal of  this  free  State.  Deborah  and  I  were  there." 

"  Thee  don't  say  so  !  And  was  it  as  bad  as  the 
papers  tell  for  ?  " 

"  Even  worse  than  any  papers  but  our  own  re- 
port it.  The  '  Voice  of  Freedom '  and  the  '  Liber- 
ator 'tell  it  as  it  was.  Several  of  the  speakers  were 
pelted  with  rotten  eggs,  and  there  were  threats  of 
laying  violent  hands  upon  some." 

"But  the'  wa'n't  nobody  r'ally  hurt?" 

"No,  but  Samuel  J.  May  was  seriously  threat- 
ened ;  and  I  don't  know  what  might  have  happened 
if  Deborah,  here,  had  n't  taken  his  arm  and  walked 
out  through  the  mob  with  him.  That  shamed  them 
to  forbearance." 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  21 

"  Thee  don't  say  so !  "  Lemuel  again  ejaculated. 
"But  I  guess  if  Jonathan  Miller  was  there,  he 
was  n't  very  docyle  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  rejoined  Zebulon,  "Jonathan  is  not  a 
man  of  peace,  and  he  called  the  rioters  some  pretty 
hard  names,  and  faced  them  as  brave  as  a  lion." 

Lemuel  rubbed  his  hands  in  un- Quaker ly  admi- 
ration of  this  truculent  champion  of  the  oppressed, 
and  said,  with  a  not  altogether  distressed  sigh, 
"  I  'm  afeard  he  would  n't  hesitate  tu  use  carnal 
weepons  if  he  was  pushed  tew  fur.  He  has  been  a 
man  of  war,  an'  fit  in  Greece." 

"  Wat  dat  ?  "  asked  Jerome,  who  had  been  lis- 
tening intently  as  he  slowly  cut  the  sheep's  pota- 
toes, and  now  held  his  knife  suspended  and  stared 
in  wide-eyed  wonder.  "  He  was  faght  in  grease  ? 
Ah  'm  was  hear  of  mans  faght  in  snow,  an'  faght 
in  water,  an'  faght  in  mud,  but  bah  jinjo,  faght  in 
grease,  Ah  ant  never  was  hear  so  'fore,  me." 

"Why,  Jerome,"  explained  Zebulon,  with  an 
amused  smile,  "  thee  don't  understand.  Greece  is 
a  country,  away  across  the  sea,  where  this  brave 
man  went,  according  to  his  light,  to  help  the  people 
war  against  their  oppressors,  the  Turks." 

"  Bah  jinjo,"  said  the  Canadian,  resuming  his 
occupation,  "  dat  mus'  be  w'ere  de  folkses  leeve  on 
de  fat  of  de  Ian',  sem  Ah  'ms  hear  you  tol*  of  some- 
tarn.  An'  dey  got  turkey  too,  hein  ?  Ah  'ms  b'lieve 
dat  was  good  place  for  go,  me." 


22  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

"  When  it  is  quite  convenient,  Zeb'lon,"  Lemuel 
said,  after  some  further  talk  of  anti-slavery  affairs, 
diverging  to  the  most  economic  means  of  procuring 
free-labor  goods,  "  I  want  an  opportunity  tu  open 
my  mind  tu  thee  an'  Deb'ry  consarnin'  certain 
weighty  matters." 

"  Come  right  in  the  other  room,"  responded  the 
host,  rising  and  leading  the  way.  "  I  think  Debo- 
rah is  there." 

The  Canadian,  presently  finishing  his  task  and 
his  last  pipe,  lighted  a  candle  and  climbed  the  stairs 
to  his  bed  in  the  kitchen  chamber,  and  Julia,  hav- 
ing set  the  supper  dishes  away  and  hung  her  wip- 
ing-cloths  on  the  poles  suspended  from  the  ceiling 
by  iron  hooks,  with  a  satisfied  air  of  completion, 
discreetly  withdrew,  and  the  young  people  had  the 
rare  opportunity  of  being  alone. 

"  Ruth,  you  must  give  me  a  glimmer  of  hope," 
Robert  Ransom  pleaded. 

"  How  can  I  when  it  would  grieve  father  and 
mother  so  to  have  me  joined  to  a  companion  who  is 
not  of  our  faith,  and  has  so  little  unity  with  us  on 
the  question  of  slavery  ?  If  thee  could  but  have 
light  given  thee  to  see  these  matters  as  they  are  so 
clearly  shown  to  us  !  " 

"  If  I  would  pretend  to  be  a  Quaker,  and  meddle 
with  affairs  that  don't  concern  me,"  he  said  bit- 
terly, "  I  should  be  all  right,  and  they  would  give 
me  their  daughter.  But  I  can't  pretend  to  believe 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  23 

what  I  don't,  even  for  such  a  reward.  As  for  the 
other  matter  of  difference,  you  know,  Ruth,  that  I 
would  n't  hold  a  slave  or  send  one  back  to  his  mas- 
ter ;  but  slavery  exists  under  the  law,  and  we  have 
no  more  business  to  interfere  with  the  slaveholders' 
rights  than  they  with  ours." 

"  There  can  be  no  right  to  do  wrong,  and  it  is 
every  one's  business  to  bear  testimony  against  evil- 
doing.  Thee  knows,  Robert,  I  would  not  take  thee 
on  any  pretense  of  belief.  But  if  thee  could  only 
have  light ! " 

"  Oh,  Ruth,  you  will  not  let  these  differences  of 
belief  keep  us  apart  ?  What  are  they,  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  our  love  ?  " 

"It  would  not  be  right  to  deny  thee  is  very 
dear  to  me,  Robert,  and  that  I  pray  the  way  may 
be  opened  for  us,  but  I  cannot  see  it  clear  yet." 
Ruth's  eyes  met  his  with  a  look  that  was  warmer 
than  her  calm  words. 

"  But  you  will,  Ruth,"  he  said,  with  suppressed 
earnestness ;  and  then  a  stir  and  louder  murmur  of 
voices  were  heard  in  the  next  room.  "  The  Friends 
have  'broke  their  meeting,'  as  your  people  say, 
and  it 's  time  for  me  to  go.  I  want  to  caution  you, 
though,  to  keep  a  certain  person  you  have  in  the 
house  very  close.  I  'm  afraid  there  are  parties  on 
the  lookout  for  him  not  far  off." 

"  Oh,  thank  thee,  Robert.  Why  does  thee  think 
so  ?  "  she  asked  in  some  alarm. 


24  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

"  From  something  I  heard  in  the  village  to-day, 
I  think  there 's  a  party  of  slave-hunters  prowling 
around  in  this  part  of  the  State :  I  saw  a  stranger 
at  Manum's  to-night  who  is  likely  enough  to  be  one 
of  them.  It 's  an  odd  season  for  a  man  to  be  travel- 
ing for  pleasure  here.  There  may  be  nothing  in  it, 
but  tell  your  father  to  be  careful.  Good-night." 

Under  cover  of  the  noise  of  Ransom's  exit  Jerome 
closed  the  disused  stovepipe  hole  in  the  chamber 
floor,  at  which  he  had  been  listening,  crept  into 
bed,  and  fell  asleep  while  puzzling  out  the  meaning 
of  what  he  had  overheard. 

Ruth  Barclay  lost  no  time  in  imparting  the  cau- 
tion to  her  parents  and  their  trusty  friend  Lemuel, 
and  her  father's  thoughtful  face  was  troubled  as  he 
said,  "  Our  poor  friend  must  have  rest.  Thy  mother 
has  been  ministering  to  him,  and  says  he  is  a  very 
sick  man.  He  cannot  go  farther  at  present,  but  I 
wish  he  was  nearer  Canada.  Well,  we  will  watch 
and  wait  for  guidance.  Perhaps  to-morrow  night  I 
can  take  him  to  thy  uncle  Aaron's,  and  then  we 
can  count  on  his  safety.  I  hope  thee  has  not  been 
indiscreet  in  letting  Robert  into  our  secret,  my 
child?" 

"  Thee  need  not  fear,  father,"  Ruth  answered, 
with  quiet  assurance.  "  Robert  is  faithful." 

"  I  am  not  quite  clear,"  and  the  father  sighed. 
"  Robert  is  not  light  or  evil-minded,  but  his  father 
is  a  Presbyterian  and  a  Democrat,  and  very  bitter 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  25 

against  Friends  and  anti-slavery  people.    I  am  not 
quite  clear  concerning  Robert." 

IV 

The  next  morning  Jerome  was  encouraging  the 
fire  newly  kindled  from  the  bed  of  coals  on  the 
hearth,  and  tiptoeing  between  it  and  the  wood-box 
in  his  stockings,  when  Julia  made  her  appearance 
in  the  kitchen,  holding  between  her  compressed  lips 
some  yet  unutilized  pins  while  she  tied  the  strings 
of  her  check  apron. 

"  Morny,  Julie,"  he  saluted  cheerily.  Her  speech 
being  restrained  by  the  pins,  she  nodded,  and  he 
went  on  interrogatively,  as  he  seated  himself  and 
began  mellowing  his  stiff  boots  with  thumb  and 
fingers :  "  Ah  'ms  tol'  you,  Julie.  Wat  you  s'pose 
kan  o'  t'ing  was  be  raoun'  dese  buildin'  for  scairt 
me  so  plenty  ?  " 

"  Why,  J'rome  ? "  Julia,  like  a  true  Yankee, 
answered  with  a  question,  when  she  had  found  a 
place  in  her  dress  for  the  last  pin.  "  What  hes  ben 
a-scarin'  of  you,  I  sh'd  like  tu  know  ?  " 

"  Ah  'ms  can'  tol'  you,  'cause  Ah  'ms  can'  see  ; 
Ah 'ms  only  zhus'  hear.  Las'  naght  w'en  Ah 'ms 
go  on  de  barn,  Ah  'ms  hear  some  nowse  lak  some- 
body cough,  cough,  an'  dere  ant  not'ing  for  see. 
W'en  Ah  'ms  go  on  de  bed,  Ah  'ms  hear  it  some 
more  upstair,  cough,  cough,  zhus'  de  sem.  Ah  'ms 
b'lieve  it  was  ghos'." 


26  OUT   OF  BONDAGE 

Julia  searched  his  face  with  a  quick  glance,  and 
compelled  her  own  to  express  no  less  fear  and 
wonder.  "  Good  land  o'  massy !  You  don't  say !  " 
she  exclaimed  in  an  awed  undertone.  "  Where  did 
it  'pear  tu  be,  J'rome  ?  " 

"  Ah  don'  know  if  it  be  in  de  chimbley  or  behin' 
de  chimbley,  me.  Ah  'ms  'fraid  for  examine." 

"  Examine !  Ketch  me  a-pokin'  behind  that  'ere 
chimbley,  if  I  c'd  git  there,  which  it 's  all  closed 
up  these  I  do'  know  haow  many  year.  No,  sir,  not 
for  all  this  world,  in  broad  daylight,  I  would  n't !  " 
Julia  protested  with  impressive  voice  and  slow 
shakes  of  the  head. 

"  Bah  jinjo !  Wat  you  s'pose  he  was  ?  "  Jerome 
asked,  under  his  breath. 

"  I  've  hearn  tell 't  the  Injuns  er  the  British 
killed  some  hired  man  there,  'way  back  in  Gran'- 
f 'ther  Barclay's  day,"  Julia  whispered ;  and  then, 
in  a  more  reassuring  tone,  "  But  you  may  depend 
it  hain't  nothin'  'at  '11  hurt  us,  if  we  let  it  alone, 
J'rome." 

"  Wat  for  Zeb'lon  try  foolish  me  wid  cat  sneeze 
w'en  he  know  it  was  be  ghos'  ?  Ah  'ms  ant  s'pose 
Quaker  mans  was  tol'  lie,  prob'ly.  Ah  'ms  hear  dat 
Ramson  tol'  Rut'  he  'fraid  somet'ing.  Ah  don' 
know,  me."  And  having  pulled  on  his  boots  after 
a  brief  struggle,  he  lighted  the  lantern  and  went 
out  to  his  chores. 

"  I  wonder  haow  much  the  critter  heard  ?  "  Julia 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  27 

soliloquized,  as  she  leaned  on  the  broom  and  looked 
with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  door  which  had  just 
closed  behind  him,  "  an'  if  he  mistrusts  suthin'  ?  I 
would  n't  trust  him  no  f  urder  'n  I  'd  trust  a  dog  wi' 
my  dinner.'* 

When  Deborah  Barclay  came  into  the  kitchen 
her  usually  placid  face  was  troubled,  and  it  was 
not  lightened  when  Julia  told  her  suspicions,  end- 
ing with  the  declaration,  "  You  can't  never  trust  a 
Canuck,  man  or  woman,  an'  this  'ere  J'rome  loves 
colored  folks  as  a  cat  loves  hot  soap.  He  's  al'ys 
an'  forever  a-goin'  on  abaout  'em." 

"  Ah,  me !  "  Deborah  sighed.  "  The  way  seems 
dark  this  morning.  Zebulon  was  taken  with  one  of 
his  bad  turns  in  the  night  and  is  n't  able  to  get  up, 
and  Lemuel  is  obliged  to  go  home  at  once.  We 
heard  last  night  that  there  are  slave-hunters  about, 
and  if  it  is  needful  to  remove  our  poor  friend  up- 
stairs to  a  safer  place  we  have  no  one  that  we  can 
trust  to  do  it,  —  if  indeed  he  can  be  removed  with- 
out endangering  his  life ;  for  he  's  in  a  miserable 
way  and  needs  rest  and  nursing.  But  perhaps  the 
way  will  be  made  clear  to  us.  It  always  has  been 
in  these  matters." 

Friend  Lemuel  reembarked  on  his  homeward 
voyage,  in  the  huge  bread-tray,  soon  after  the  early 
breakfast,  and  the  Quaker  household  fell  into  more 
than  its  wonted  outward  quiet.  This  was  scarcely 
disturbed  when,  in  the  afternoon,  Jehiel  James  drove 


28  OUT  OF    BONDAGE 

past,  and  halted  a  little  for  a  chat  with  Jerome  to 
discuss  the  merits  of  the  colt  the  latter  was  break- 
ing. It  did  not  escape  Julia's  sharp  eyes  that  the 
two  had  their  heads  together,  nor  did  her  ears  fail 
to  catch  Hiel's  parting  injunction :  "  Come  over 
tu  the  tarvern  in  the  evenin'  an'  we  '11  strike  up 
a  dicker  for  the  cult." 

"  I  guess  suthin'  '11  happen  so 's  't  you  won't  go 
tu  no  tarvern  tu-night,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
b'lieve  there  '11  be  a  way  pervided,  as  aour  folks 
says,  tu  hender  it,"  and  she  went  about  her  work 
considering  the  possible  ways  of  Providence. 

Not  long  afterward  Jerome  came  in,  and  on  some 
pretext  went  to  his  sleeping-room.  Julia,  listening 
intently  while  he  moved  stealthily  to  and  fro,  or 
maintained  suspicious  intervals  of  silence,  thought 
she  detected  once  the  cautious  opening  of  a  door. 
When  he  reappeared  there  was  an  ill-concealed 
gleam  of  triumph  in  his  beady  black  eyes,  and  they 
furtively  sought  hers  as  if  to  read  her  thoughts. 

"  Ah  'ms  t'ink  Ah  'ms  ant  mos'  never  goin'  fan 
mah  tobac,"  he  said,  ostentatiously  biting  off  a 
corner  of  a  plug,  and  then  asked,  "  Haow  was  be 
Zeb'lon?  He  ant  goin'  be  seek,  don't  it?" 

"  I  do'  know,  J'rome.  He  's  putty  bad  off.  He  's 
got  a  burnin'  fever  an'  a  tumble  pain  acrost  him. 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  you  hed  tu  go  arter  the 
darkter  this  evenin'." 

"  Ah  'ms  can'  go  dis  evelin',"  he  answered  has- 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  29 

tily.  "  Ah  'ms  gat  some  beesinees,  me.  Wat  for  Ah 
can'  go  gat  docter  'fore  de  chore,  hein?" 

"  You  '11  hafter  go  right  past  the  tarvern  tu  git 
the  Thompsonian  darkter,  which  aour  folks  won't 
hev  no  other,"  she  answered  irrelevantly. 

"  More  Ah  'ms  t'ink  of  it,"  Jerome  said,  after  a 
little  consideration,  "  more  Ah  'ms  t'ink  Ah  'm  could 
go." 

"  If  I  only  hed  sperits  enough,"  Julia  communed 
with  herself  meantime,  "  I  'd  git  you  so  all-fired 
minky,  you  would  n't  know  where  tu  go,  an'  would 
n't  git  there  if  you  did.  But  Mis'  Barclay  would 
n't  le'  me  hev  enough  tu  du  that,  not  tu  save  all 
Afriky.  Mebby,  though,"  with  a  flash  of  inspira- 
tion, "  she  'd  le'  me  hev  a  good  doste  for  medicine." 

"  J'rome,"  she  said  aloud,  "  what 's  the  motter 
ails  ye  ?  Ye  hain't  a-lookin'  well." 

"Me?   Ah 'm  was  feel  f us'-rate." 

"  But  you  hain't  well,  —  I  know  you  hain't.  You 
look  pale  's  you  can,  complected  as  you  be,  and 
you  're  dark  'n  under  your  eyes.  I  must  git  you 
suthin'  tu  take.  Mebby  I  c'n  git  a  doste  o'  hot 
sperits  f'm  Mis'  Barclay." 

Jerome's  face  was  comical,  with  its  mixed  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction  and  simulated  misery. 
"  Bah  jinjo,  Julie,  Ah  'ms  ant  felt  so  well  Ah  'ms 
t'ink  Ah  was.  Ah  'ms  gat  col'  come,  w'en  Ah  'ms 
chaupin'.  Dey  ant  not'ing  cure  me  so  fas'  lak 
some  whiskey." 


30  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

"  Don't  you  say  nothin',  an'  I  '11  see  if  I  c'n  git 
you  a  doste  afore  supper." 

Ruth  was  in  close  attendance  upon  her  father 
while  her  mother  ministered  to  the  hidden  fugi- 
tive, so  the  handmaiden  had  little  opportunity  for 
speech  with  either  till  toward  nightfall.  At  the 
first  chance,  in  a  beguiling  tone,  she  besought  Deb- 
orah :  "  I  du  hate  tu  ask  you,  but  I  be  so  tuckered 
an'  kinder  all  gone,  I  wish  't  you  'd  gi'  me  a  rael  big 
squilch  o'  sperits." 

"  Why,  surely,  thee  poor  child,  if  thee  needs  it, 
thee  shall  have  it.  I  '11  give  thee  the  bottle,  and 
thee  can  help  thyself.  I  know  thee  '11  be  prudent," 
and  Deborah  passed  up  the  narrow  staircase  with 
a  steaming  bowl  of  gruel. 

When  possessed  of  the  spirits,  Julia  fortified 
herself  with  a  moderate  dram,  "jest  tu  keep  my 
word  good,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Now  I  '11  see 
what  I  can  du  for  the  benefit  of  your  health,  Mr. 
J'rome,"  and  she  poured  out  a  bountiful  draught 
of  the  ripe  old  Jamaica,  and  added  to  it,  from  a 
vial,  a  spoonful  of  a  dark  liquid,  carefully  stirred 
the  mixture,  and  tasted  it  with  critical  deliberation. 

"  That  tinctur'  o'  lobele  does  bite,  but  my  sakes, 
he  won't  never  notice.  There  you  come,"  as  she 
heard  Jerome  stamping  at  the  threshold.  "  I  hope 
this  'ere  won't  kill  ye,  not  quite,  but  you  '11  think 
it 's  goin'  tu  if  you  never  took  no  lobele  afore.  My 
senses !  "  and  she  made  a  disgusted  face  as  she 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  31 

recalled  her  own  experience  of  Thompsonian  treat- 
ment. A  few  minutes  later  she  covertly  handed 
Jerome  the  glass,  and  with  a  sense  of  righteous 
guilt  watched  his  eager  draining  of  the  last  drop. 

"  Oh,  Julie,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  with  re- 
sounding smacks  of  satisfaction,  "you  was  good 
womans.  Dat  was  cure  me  all  up." 

"  I  du  hope  it  '11  du  good,"  she  responded,  and 
mentally  added,  "  an'  keep  you  f 'm  tellin'  tales  out 
o'  school." 

Warmed  by  the  potent  spirits,  and  without  the 
calm  restraint  of  his  employer's  presence,  Jerome 
was  more  than  usually  garrulous  at  the  supper-table, 
till  suddenly  his  tongue  began  to  falter  and  a 
ghastly  pallor  overspread  his  dark  face. 

"  Oh !  "  he  groaned,  as  his  glaring  eyes  sought 
imploringly  the  alarmed  countenances  of  the  wo- 
men, lingering  longest  upon  Julia's,  "w'at  you 
s'pose  hail  me  ?  Oh,  Ah  'ms  goin'  to  dead  !  Mah 
hinside  all  turn  over !  Oh,  Julie,  was  you  pazzin 
me  wid  bugbed  pazzin  ?  "  He  pushed  himself  from 
the  table  and  staggered  toward  the  door,  whither 
he  was  anxiously  followed  by  Deborah  and  Ruth. 

"  What  is  it,  Jerome  ?  Is  it  a  sickness  or  a 
pain  ?  "  Deborah  inquired  with  concern.  "  Shall 
I  give  thee  some  pepper  tea,  or  salt  and  water  ? 
Thee  'd  better  go  upstairs  and  lie  down." 

"  Oh,  sacre,  mon  Dieu !  "  he  groaned.  "  All 
Ah  'ms  want  was  for  dead,  so  quick  Ah  can  !  Oh, 


32  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

Ah  'ms  bus'  open !  Ah  'ms  bile  over !  Ah  'ms  tore 
up  !  Dat  damn  hoi'  gal  Julie  spile  me  all  up  !  "  and 
he  floundered  out  of  doors,  retching  and  groaning. 

Deborah  was  about  to  follow  him,  when  she  was 
withheld  by  Julia.  "Don't  you  stir  a  step  arter 
him,  Mis'  Barclay.  He'll  come  all  right  plenty 
soon  'nough.  I  know  what  ails  him.  I  only  give 
him  a  little  doste  o'  medicine." 

"  Julia  Peck,"  said  Deborah  severely,  "  what  has 
thee  been  doing  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  ye  the  hull  truth,  Mis'  Barclay,  as  true 
as  I  live  an'  breathe.  I  was  jes'  as  sure  as  I  stan' 
here  that  him  an'  that  'ere  Hiel  James  was  a-con- 
nivin'  tu  help  take  that  man  we  've  got  in  aour 
chamber,  an'  Jerome  was  a-peekin'  raoun'  this  very 
arternoon  tu  find  aout  if  he  was  here ;  an'  I  know 
by  the  look  of  him  he  did  find  aout,  an'  he  was 
a-goin'  tu  the  tarvern  tu-night  tu  let  'em  know,  an' 
I  jest  put  a  stop  tu  it ;  for  what  was  we  a-goin'  tu 
du,  with  Mr.  Barclay  sick  abed,  an'  nob'dy  but  us 
women  ?  Naow,  I  don't  think  he  '11  go  jest  yit." 

Deborah  smiled  while  she  tried  to  express  a 
proper  degree  of  severity  in  her  words  and  voice. 
"  Julia,  I  fear  thee  has  done  wrong.  I  do  hope  thee 
hasn't  given  the  poor  misguided  man  anything 
very  injurious  ?  " 

"  As  true  as  I  live  an'  breathe,  it  hain't  nothin' 
but  tinctur'  o'  lobele,  an'  it  '11  clear  aout  his  stomach 
an'  du  him  good." 


OUT   OF  BONDAGE  33 

"  We  will  hope  for  the  best.  But  ah  me,  we  are 
sore  beset.  We  have  no  way  to  get  our  friend  to  a 
place  of  safety  to-night,  and  to-morrow  the  slave- 
hunters  may  be  here,  and  they  will  search  the  whole 
house.  Besides,  the  poor  man's  cough  would  betray 
him  wherever  we  hid  him.  What  can  we  do  ?  " 

"  Would  n't  Mr.  Weeks  help,  if  we  c'd  git  him 
word  ?  I  c'd  cut  over  there  in  no  time,  if  you  say 
so,"  and  Julia  made  a  move  toward  her  hood  and 
shawl  behind  the  door. 

"  Thee  's  very  kind.  I  Ve  thought  of  him,  but 
he 's  gone  across  the  lake  to  visit  Friends,  and 
won't  be  back  till  Seventh  Day.  And  he  's  the  only 
Friend  here  that 's  in  full  unity  with  us  in  these 
matters,"  and  Deborah  sighed. 

"  Could  n't  I  take  Tom  and  get  the  man  to  uncle 
Aaron's  before  morning,  mother  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Oh,  my  child,  if  thee  could,  he  is  not  able  to 
ride  so  far.  No,  dear ;  yet  I  know  not  what  to  do 
or  which  way  to  turn,"  said  the  mother,  and  she 
walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out,  as  if 
some  guidance  was  to  come  to  her  out  of  the  grow- 
ing shadows  of  evening. 

"  Mother,"  said  Ruth  earnestly,  after  an  unbroken 
silence  of  some  length,  "  I  will  get  some  one  to  help 
us.  Julia,  will  thee  help  me  harness  Tom  ?  Don't 
ask  me  any  questions,  mother,  but  thee  trust  me." 

"  I  do  trust  thee,  my  child.  But  I  can't  think 
who  thee  can  get." 


34  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

"  I  '11  harness  or  du  anything,  Reuth ;  but  if 
that  Canuck  does  turn  hisself  wrong  side  aout  an' 
die,  don't  you  tell  of  me.  But  I  guess  he  wan't 
borned  tu  die  of  Thompsonian  medicine ;  an'  there 
he  comes.  I  'm  glad,  for  I  al'ys  did  spleen  agin 
findin'  corpses  lay  in'  raoun'  permiscus." 

Jerome  came  into  the  room,  and,  woe-begone  of 
countenance  and  limp  of  form,  too  sick  to  notice 
any  lack  of  sympathy,  he  crept  ignominiously  on 
all  fours  up  the  stairs  to  bed.  Julia  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief  as  she  closed  the  door  behind  the  abject 
figure. 

"  There,  thanks  be  tu  goodness  and  lobele,  he 's 
safte  for  this  night.  Naow,  Reuth,  we  '11  harness 

the  hoss." 

V 

The  faithful  old  family  horse  seemed  to  under- 
stand the  necessity  of  a  swifter  pace  than  was  em- 
ployed in  his  jogging  to  First  Day  and  Fifth  Day 
meetings,  and  he  took  a  smart  trot  with  little  urging 
by  his  young  mistress.  The  half-buried  fences  and 
the  trees  drifted  steadily  past,  and  the  long  shadows 
cast  in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon  swung  slowly 
backward,  while  the  jagged  crests  of  the  distant 
hills  marched  forward  in  stately  procession ;  yet  in 
her  anxiety  the  progress  was  slow  to  Ruth,  the  way 
never  so  long.  It  was  shortened  by  the  good  for- 
tune of  meeting  Robert  Ransom  a  half-mile  from 
his  home,  and  she  counted  it  no  less  a  favor  to  be 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  35 

saved  the  awkwardness  of  seeking  an  interview 
with  him. 

She  was  not  disappointed  in  his  response  to  her 
appeal,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  at  her 
father's  bedside.  A  short  consultation  was  held 
concerning  the  best  means  of  baffling  the  slave- 
hunters,  whose  descent  upon  this  suspected  hiding- 
place  of  the  fugitive  might  occur  at  any  time. 

"  I  '11  carry  the  man  anywhere  you  say,  Mr.  Bar- 
clay. Mrs.  Barclay  says  he  's  too  weak  to  go  far, 
and  I  '11  tell  you  my  plan.  It 's  to  take  him  to  our 
sugar-house.  No  one  ever  goes  there  till  sugaring- 
time,  after  the  wood  is  hauled,  and  that 's  just  fin- 
ished. It 's  warm  and  there 's  a  bunk  in  it,  so  that 
by  carrying  along  some  buffaloes  and  blankets  he 
can  be  made  almost  as  comfortable  as  in  any  house." 

"  I  don't  know  a  safer  place,  for  no  one  would 
ever  think  of  looking  for  a  runaway  negro  on  thy 
father's  premises,"  said  Zebulon,  with  due  delibera- 
tion, yet  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and 
then  added,  "  My !  what  would  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  necessary  to  ask  him,  and  I  '11 
take  the  man  there  at  once,  if  you  say  so."  The 
young  man's  kindly  face  expressed  an  earnestness 
in  which  there  was  no  guile. 

"  I  think  thy  plan  is  the  only  one  we  can  adopt, 
and  the  sooner  we  do  so  the  better.  The  women 
folks  will  provide  thee  with  blankets,  and  there 
must  be  food  and  medicine.  Deborah,  does  thee 


36  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

think  he  will  be  able  to  keep  his  own  fire  and  wait 
on  himself?" 

"  He  is  not  fit  to  leave  his  bed,"  she  answered  ; 
"but  he  must,  long  enough  to  get  to  a  place  of 
safety.  Does  thee  think  I  should  go  with  him, 
Zebulon  ?  I  don't  see  the  way  clear  to  leave  thee, 
my  dear,  nor  to  let  Ruth  go,  though  she  would  not 
shrink  from  it  if  it  seemed  best." 

Robert's  face  flushed,  and  he  hastily  said,  "  Ruth 
go  to  nurse  a  sick" —  The  offensive  name  "nig- 
ger," forbidden  in  that  household,  though  familiar 
enough  in  his  own,  was  barely  withheld.  "  No,  it 
wouldn't  be  right  for  either  to  go,  Mrs.  Barclay. 
I  will  take  care  of  the  man." 

Zebulon  bestowed  a  grateful  look  upon  him,  and 
stretched  forth  his  hand  to  clasp  that  of  the  young 
man.  "  Robert,  I  never  thought  to  look  to  thee  for 
help  in  such  a  case.  Thee  is  very  kind,  and  I  shall 
not  forget  it  in  thee.  If  it  is  ever  in  my  power  to 
serve  thee,  thee  must  feel  free  to  call  on  me." 

Robert  blushed  almost  guiltily  as  he  silently 
thought  of  the  reward  he  most  desired,  and  quietly 
thanked  the  sick  man  for  his  kindly  expressions. 

"Now,  I  think  thee  would  better  be  about  the 
matter  at  once.  Look  out  for  Jerome,  and  be  sure 
that  no  one  is  watching  the  house  when  thee  starts, 
Robert.  Farewell." 

Deborah  stayed  a  moment  to  administer  a  dose 
of  Thompsonian  medicine  known  as  "  No.  6,"  when 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  37 

Zebulon  said,  getting  his  breath  after  the  fiery 
draught,  "  Well,  help  has  come  in  an  unexpected 
way.  I  did  not  expect  so  much  from  Neighbor 
Ransom's  son." 

"  It  is  indeed  a  favor,"  and  there  was  a  hope  in 
the  mother's  heart  that  the  way  might  also  become 
clear  for  her  daughter's  happiness. 

The  Canadian  had  fallen  into  such  a  deep  sleep 
from  the  reaction  of  Julia's  heroic  treatment  that 
he  was  not  aroused  by  any  stir  around  the  house. 
The  fugitive  was  taken  from  his  hiding-place,  a 
snug  little  chamber  back  of  the  great  warm  chim- 
ney, which  had  given  safe  and  comfortable  shelter 
to  many  escaping  slaves,  a  use  to  which  it  was  de- 
voted. With  the  help  of  his  ready-handed  female 
assistants  Robert  soon  had  his  charge  in  the  sleigh, 
with  bedding,  provisions,  and  medicines. 

When  the  sick  man  was  carefully  wrapped  in 
blankets  and  hidden  under  the  buffalo,  Robert  drove 
along  the  highway,  swiftly  and  silently,  till  at  last 
he  turned  through  a  gap  into  a  pathless  field,  across 
which  he  made  slower  progress  to  the  dusky  border 
of  the  woods.  Guided  by  familiar  landmarks,  he 
came  to  the  narrow  portal  of  a  wood-road  that  wound 
its  unbeaten  but  well-defined  way  among  gray  tree- 
trunks,  snow-capped  stumps  and  rocks,  and  thick 
haze  of  undergrowth.  Inanimate  material  forms  and 
impalpable  blue  shadows  assumed  shapes  of  fearful 
living  things,  to  the  strained  imagination  of  the 


38  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

negro,  who  was  now  permitted  to  free  his  head  from 
the  robe.  He  shrank  as  if  struck  when  a  tree 
snapped  under  stress  of  the  cold,  —  a  noise  unac- 
countable to  him,  but  like  the  click  of  a  gun-lock, 
or  the  shot  of  a  rifle,  or  the  crack  of  a  whip. 

With  calm  manner  and  reassuring  words  Ban- 
som  again  and  again  quieted  the  often  reawakened 
fears  of  the  fugitive,  till  at  last  they  reached  the 
sugar-house.  It  was  a  picture  of  loneliness  and  de- 
sertion, with  smokeless,  snow-capped  chimney  and 
pathless  approach.  When  they  entered,  the  bare 
interior  revealed  by  the  light  of  a  candle  was  dismal 
and  comfortless.  The  blankets  and  pillows  were 
soon  arranged  upon  the  bunk,  and,  having  made  his 
guest  as  easy  as  possible,  Ransom  kindled  a  fire  in 
the  great  arch  over  which  the  sap  was  boiled,  and 
put  the  stock  of  provisions  into  the  rude  corner 
cupboard. 

The  yellow  light  of  the  candle  and  the  red  gleams 
of  the  fire  were  reflected  by  some  tin  utensils  that 
hung  on  the  wall,  by  an  old  musket  leaning  in  a 
corner,  and  by  the  piled  tier  of  sap-buckets;  the 
dancing  shadows  tripped  to  a  less  solemn  measure  ; 
a  genial  warmth  began  to  pervade  the  room,  and 
soon  the  place  assumed  the  cheerful  homeliness  of 
a  snug  winter  camp. 

The  troubled  face  of  the  negro  brightened  as  he 
looked  around,  watching  his  companion's  prepara- 
tions with  languid  interest. 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  39 

"  Dis  yere  's  a  mighty  nice  place  fur  lay  in' 
low,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  You  's  powerful 
good  to  fetch  me  here,  marster,  an'  I 's  'bleeged 
to  ye." 

"  That 's  all  right,  my  man,"  Robert  replied,  as 
he  set  an  inverted  sap-tub  by  the  bunk  and  placed 
a  bottle  of  medicine  upon  it.  "Now  here  's  the 
medicine  for  you  to  take,  and  my  watch  to  show 
you  when  to  take  it.  Keep  quiet,  and  I  '11  be  back 
in  a  couple  of  hours  ;  "  and  after  replenishing  the 
fire,  he  departed  to  take  the  horse  home,  and  finally 
returned  on  foot  to  his  self-appointed  post. 

Perhaps  the  secrecy  of  the  service,  the  relish  of 
baffling  eager  search,  and  the  possible  chance  of 
adventure  made  Ransom's  task  more  congenial  than 
the  mere  sense  of  duty  could  have  done,  and  he 
plodded  his  way  back  over  the  snowy  road  with  a 
cheerful  heart.  When  he  had  ministered  to  his 
patient's  needs  and  fed  the  fire,  he  rolled  himself  in 
his  blankets  and  fell  asleep. 

VI 

Morning  found  Jerome  recovered  from  the  last 
night's  illness,  but  not  restored  to  good  humor.  He 
had  satisfied  himself  that  the  negro  had  been  re- 
moved from  the  house,  but  how  or  where  he  could 
not  conjecture,  and  he  was  savagely  disappointed 
that  the  chance  and  reward  of  betrayal  had  slipped 
beyond  his  reach.  As  he  plied  his  axe  in  Zebulon 


40  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

Barclay's  wood  lot,  the  strokes  fell  with  spiteful 
vigor;  and  when  a  great  tree  succumbed  to  them 
and  went  groaning  to  the  final  crash  of  downfall, 
he  gloated  over  it  as  if  it  were  a  personal  enemy. 
As  the  echoes  boomed  their  last  faint  reverberation 
and  left  him  in  the  midst  of  silence,  his  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  distant  axe-strokes ;  and  when,  across 
the  narrow  cleared  valley  that  lay  between  him  and 
the  next  wooded  hillside,  he  saw  a  column  of  smoke 
rising  above  the  tops  of  the  maples,  after  a  long, 
intent  look  he  asked  himself,  "Wat  you  s'pose 
somebodee  was  do  on  hoi'  Ramson  sugar-place,  dis 
tam  de  year  ?  " 

Unable  to  answer  except  by  unsatisfactory 
guesses,  he  resumed  his  chopping  ;  but  the  itch  of 
curiosity  gave  him  no  rest,  for  he  was  as  inquisitive 
as  any  native  of  the  soil ;  and  when  it  could  no 
longer  be  endured,  he  struck  his  axe  into  a  stump, 
and  set  forth  in  quest  of  the  certain  knowledge 
which  should  be  its  cure.  As  he  cautiously  drew 
near  the  sugar-house,  in  its  rear,  under  cover  of  the 
great  maple  trunks  that  stood  about  it  on  every  side, 
he  heard  low  voices  in  broken  conversation,  and  a 
moment  later  a  racking,  distressful  cough  which 
excited  his  suspicions. 

Stooping  low,  he  crept  from  the  nearest  tree  to 
the  one  window,  whose  board  shutter  was  swung 
open  for  the  admission  of  light,  and  peered  stealth- 
ily in.  The  brief  survey  revealed  Robert  Ransom 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  41 

looking  anxiously  down  on  the  ghastly  face  of  the 
negro.  There  was  no  softening  touch  of  pity  in  the 
malignantly  triumphant  gleam  of  the  Canadian's 
snaky  eyes  as  he  returned  to  the  cover  of  the  trees, 
gliding  from  one  to  another  till  he  regained  the 
valley,  and  then  resumed  his  chopping. 

Throughout  the  day,  at  the  sugar-house,  the  win- 
ter stillness  was  unbroken  save  by  the  small  voices 
of  the  titmice  and  nuthatches  and  the  subdued  tap- 
ping of  the  industrious  woodpeckers,  sounds  that 
harmonized  with  it  and  but  intensified  it.  The  place 
seemed  as  secure  from  enemies  in  its  complete  iso- 
lation as  it  was  remote  from  the  reach  of  medical 
aid,  which  Ransom  felt  was  needed,  and  of  which 
he  was  often  on  the  point  of  going  in  quest.  The 
sick  man  was  racked  with  pain  at  times,  his  mind 
wandered,  and  he  talked  incoherently. 

"  It 's  mighty  good  to  be  free,  Marse  Ransom, 
'deed  it  is  dat.  Oh,  but  it 's  col'  up  dis  away.  Oh, 
de  snow !  I 's  wadin'  in  de  snow  de  hull  endurin' 
time  !  It 's  freezin'  on  me !  I 's  coming  to  de  sun- 
shine !  I  kin  feel  it  a-warmin' !  I 's  in  de  eber- 
lastin'  snow,  an'  de  dogs  is  arter  me !  I  can't  git 
ahead  none!  Fur  de  Lawd's  sake,  don'  let  'em 
kotch  me ! " 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  Nothing  shall  harm  you. 
We  're  safe  here,"  Ransom  would  repeat  again  and 
again  in  reassuring  tones,  while  great  beads  of  per- 
spiration gathered  on  the  dusky  face,  ashen  gray 


42  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

with  sickness  and  terror,  and  the  stalwart  form 
would  now  be  shaken  with  ague,  now  burned  with 
fever. 

"  Take  a  drink  of  hot  stuff,  John,  and  let  me  cover 
you  up  warm  and  good,"  Ransom  urged,  bringing  a 
steaming  cup  of  herb  tea  from  the  fire,  saying  to 
himself,  "  It 's  old  woman's  medicine,  but  it 's  all  I 
have." 

In  the  afternoon  the  sick  man  became  easier,  and 
fell  into  such  a  quiet  sleep  that  his  nurse  began  to 
think  the  rest  and  the  simple  remedies  were  work- 
ing a  cure.  When  night  fell  and  the  multitude  of 
shadows  were  merged  in  universal  gloom,  he  closed 
the  window  shutter,  lighted  the  candle,  and  made 
needful  preparations  for  the  lonely  night-watch.  As 
he  sat  by  the  bunk,  ready  to  attend  to  any  want, 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  regular  labored  breath- 
ing, the  crackling  fire,  the  fall  of  a  smouldering 
brand,  and  the  slow  gnawing  of  a  wood-mouse  be- 
hind the  tier  of  tubs.  He  felt  a  kind  of  exhilaration 
when  he  realized  that  he  was  so  interested  in  the 
welfare  of  this  poor  waif  that  he  thought  nothing  of 
his  own  weariness  or  trouble,  but  only  how  he  could 
best  serve  the  forlorn  stranger. 

After  the  passing  of  some  hours,  his  charge  still 
sleeping  peacefully,  Ransom  thought  he  himself 
might  take  a  little  rest.  He  noiselessly  replenished 
the  fire  with  the  last  of  the  wood,  and  quietly  stepped 
outside  for  more.  He  paused  on  the  log  step  a  mo- 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  43 

raent,  listening  for  one  pulse  of  sound  in  the  dead 
silence  of  the  winter  night.  Not  a  withered  leaf 
rustled  in  the  bare  treetops,  not  a  buried  twig 
snapped  under  the  soft  footfalls  of  wandering  hare 
or  prowling  fox.  Ransom  loosed  his  held  breath  and 
was  about  to  step  into  the  moonlight,  when  he  de- 
tected a  stealthy  invasion  of  the  silence,  and  recog- 
nized the  sharp  screech  of  sleigh-runners  and  the 
muffled  tread  of  horses.  His  heart  leaped  at  the 
probability  of  coming  help,  for  it  could  hardly  be 
aught  else.  Yet  he  would  not  be  too  sure,  and,  re- 
entering  the  house,  he  closed  the  door  softly. 

He  slipped  aside  the  covering  of  a  small  loophole 
in  the  door,  made  to  afford  the  sugar-maker  the 
amusement  of  shooting  crows  when  time  hung  heavy 
on  his  hands,  and  looked  out  upon  the  scene.  The 
full  moon  had  climbed  halfway  to  the  zenith,  and 
its  beams  fell  in  broad  bands  of  white  between  the 
blue  shadows  of  the  tree-trunks  and  full  upon  the 
open  space  in  front  of  the  sugar-house.  Presently  a 
sleigh  came  into  the  narrow  range  of  his  vision.  It 
halted,  and  three  men  alighted.  He  started  back 
in  dismay,  for  at  the  first  glance  he  recognized  the 
burly  form  and  coarse  features  of  Hiel,  and  the 
dark-visaged  traveler  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  tav- 
ern, while  the  third  figure  was  unknown.  He  hur- 
riedly fastened  the  door,  for  there  could  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  purpose  of  the  visitors. 

Who  could  have  betrayed  the  fugitive's  hiding- 


44  OUT  OF   BONDAGE 

place  ?  Escape  was  impossible,  and  successful  resist- 
ance no  less  so.  What  could  he  do  ?  As  the  unan- 
swered questions  rapidly  revolved  in  his  mind,  his 
heart  grew  suddenly  sick  with  the  thought  that  the 
Barclays  might  suspect  him  of  treachery.  The  fugi- 
tive's safety  had  been  intrusted  to  him  on  his  own 
offer.  He  was  sharply  recalled  from  these  swift 
thoughts  by  a  stir  in  the  bunk.  Aroused  by  the 
noise  and  instinctively  divining  danger,  the  negro 
had  started  up  in  terror  and  was  staring  imploringly 
at  Ransom. 

"  Dey  's  arter  me,  marse.  Don'  let  'em  git  me. 
Dey  '11  wollup  me.  Dey  '11  jes'  cut  me  to  pieces. 
Don'  let  'em  kotch  me." 

"  No,  they  shan't  get  you.  Lie  down  and  keep 
quiet,"  said  Ransom,  in  a  low,  reassuring  tone,  still 
engaged  with  watching  the  movements  of  those 
outside. 

The  negro  sank  back  submissively,  with  deep 
sighs  and  incoherent  mutterings. 

The  door  was  now  violently  tried  and  loudly 
beaten  upon,  and  a  voice  demanded  t£at  it  should 
be  opened. 

"  Who  's  there?  "  asked  Ransom. 

"  Never  mind.  You  jest  open  the  door  an'  let  us 
in,"  Hiel's  voice  answered. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  We  want  the  nigger.  Open  the  door,  or  we  '11 
bust  it.  Come,  naow,  no  foolin'." 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  45 

"  I  won't  open  the  door,"  said  Ransom  firmly ; 
"  break  it  in  if  you  dare." 

As  his  eyes  searched  the  room  almost  hopelessly 
for  some  means  of  defense  or  deliverance,  they  fell 
upon  the  old  musket  in  the  corner,  and  in  the  same 
glance  he  saw  that  a  great  and  sudden  change  had 
come  upon  the  face  of  the  negro.  The  shock  of 
fright  had  been  too  great,  and  the  stamp  of  death 
was  already  set  upon  the  drawn  features.  After 
the  first  instant  a  strange  exultation  sprang  up  in 
Ransom's  heart.  An  invisible  ally  would  snatch 
the  prey  from  their  grasp,  if  he  could  but  hold  the 
hunters  at  bay  for  a  while.  He  seized  the  musket 
and  ran  to  the  door.  Looking  out  from  his  coign  of 
vantage,  he  saw  the  three  men  advancing,  carrying 
a  heavy  stick  from  the  woodpile  with  the  evident 
purpose  of  using  it  as  a  battering-ram.  He  thrust 
the  rusty  gun-muzzle  through  the  loop-hole  and 
called  out,  "  Drop  that,  or  I  '11  send  a  charge  of  shot 
into  you  !  " 

The  assailants  hesitated  only  a  moment  when  they 
saw  the  threatening  muzzle,  and  then  Ransom  heard 
the  log  drop  in  the  snow.  Soon,  after  some  consul- 
tation, there  was  a  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  in 
the  rear  of  the  shanty,  as  of  some  one  reconnoitring 
in  that  quarter  ;  then  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
gasping  breath  and  whispers  of  the  dying  man. 
Ransom  set  the  gun  by  the  door  and  went  to  him. 

"  I 's  mos'  ober  de  ribber  —  de  dogs  can't  kotch 


46  OUT  OF  BONDAGE 

me.  De  sun  shinin'  —  de  birds  singin'  —  de  bees 
hummin'.  Good-by,  marse,  I 's  gwine." 

The  massive  chest  ceased  its  labored  heavings. 
The  look  of  terror  faded  out  of  the  face,  to  give 
place  to  that  expression  of  perfect  rest  which  is 
the  hopefulest  solution  to  the  living  of  the  awful 
mystery  of  death. 

Suddenly  there  were  heavy  blows  on  the  shuttered 
window,  which  crashed  in  at  once.  At  the  same 
moment  with  this  diversion  in  the  rear  came  an 
assault  upon  the  door.  Ransom  undid  the  fastening 
and  threw  it  open.  "  You  can  come  in,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Hiel  and  the  stranger  whom  Ransom  had  first 
seen  at  the  tavern  entered  cautiously,  as  if  suspect- 
ing a  trap,  the  latter  with  a  cocked  pistol  in  his 
hand. 

44  Don't  be  afraid,  Hiel,"  Ransom  said  contempt- 
uously ;  "  the  gun  has  n't  been  loaded  for  a  year." 

"  Damn  putty  business  f  er  Square  Ransom's  son, 
stealin'  niggers  is,"  Hiel  declared.  "  Where 's  yer 
nigger,  anyway  ?  " 

Ransom  pointed  to  the  bunk,  and  the  stranger, 
drawing  a  pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket,  ad- 
vanced toward  the  motionless  figure.  "  Come,  boy," 
he  said  sharply,  "  the  little  game  is  up,  an'  it 's  no 
use  playin'  'possum.  Hold  out  your  hands."  He 
roughly  seized  one  of  the  lifeless  hands.  "  What 
the  hell!"  he  exclaimed,  recoiling  from  the  icy 


OUT  OF  BONDAGE  47 

touch.  After  an  intent  look  at  the  quiet,  peaceful 
face  of  him  who  had  escaped  from  all  bondage,  he 
turned  to  Ransom,  who  stood  calmly  regarding  him. 
"  Well,  Mr.  Ransom,  I  reckon  you  've  played  it 
rather  low  down  on  us,  but  you  've  won  the  game 
and  the  niggah's  yours.  I  reckon  I  don't  want 
him.  Come,  boys,  let 's  be  off." 


A  LETTER  FROM   THE   'HIO 

THE  day  was  so  near  its  close  that  the  sun  shone 
only  on  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees  which  were  scat- 
tered along  the  crest  of  Watson's  hill  pasture.  The 
long,  attenuated  shadows  of  the  Watson  homestead 
were  absorbed  in  the  great  shadow  of  the  western 
hills,  and  the  evening  song  of  robins  was  the  domi- 
nant sound. 

The  labors  of  the  day  were  ended,  and  the  Wat- 
sons were  out  on  the  front  stoop,  in  restful  enjoy- 
ment of  the  "cool  o'  the  eveninV  Uncle  Peter 
and  Aunt  Charity,  elderly,  toil-worn  people,  were 
slumped  into  their  respective  splint-bottomed  arm- 
chairs as  if  they  had  been  dropped  there  to  be 
picked  up  again  when  needed  for  further  use. 
Peter  pulled  gently  at  his  clay  pipe,  and  as  gently 
blew  the  smoke  from  his  lips  ;  but  Charity  had 
not  even  the  knitting  which  was  the  usual  accom- 
paniment of  her  leisure  moments,  and  sat  with 
palms  upturned  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  gazing 
absently  over  the  darkening  landscape. 

Phffibe  Ann,  a  maiden  on  the  verge  of  being 
classed  as  old,  though  not  yet  prim  nor  faded, 
seated  herself  on  the  step,  and  having  pinioned  an 
escaping  wisp  of  her  abundant  hair  with  a  high 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO  49 

horn  back  comb,  rested  her  elbows  on  her  knees, 
her  cheeks  upon  her  open  palms,  and  let  her  keen 
glances  wander  from  the  "  laylocks  "  going  out  of 
bloom  beside  the  dooryard  fence  to  the  "  piny " 
shedding  the  blood-red  petals  of  its  first  blossoms 
on  the  knot-grass  close  beside  her. 

"  Hev  you  shet  up  the  chicken  coop,  Phceb'  Ann  ? 
—  cause  the'  might  a  skunk  come,"  said  her  mother, 
whose  voice  had  an  oily  crackle  like  the  bubble  of 
frying  lard. 

"  M  —  mhm,"  the  daughter  made  inarticulate 
affirmation  as  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  next 
neighbor's  house,  a  furlong  away,  and  silently  won- 
dered what  Perkinses  folks  were  all  outdoors  for. 
Looking  down  the  road  in  the  opposite  direction, 
she  descried  a  figure  which  further  excited  her 
interest.  It  was  a  tall  man,  who  was  advancing  at 
a  pace  which  could  not  be  called  brisk,  though  his 
long  legs  carried  him  over  the  ground  at  a  rapid 
rate.  Mrs.  Watson  adjusted  her  spectacles,  and 
looked  above  the  rims. 

"  Law  sakes !  "  she  exclaimed  after  careful  scru- 
tiny. "  'T  ain't  nob'dy  but  Jer'd  Waite.  I  see  him 
goin'  'long  down  tow-ards  the  store,  jest  arter 
milkin'." 

Phoabe  Ann  smoothed  her  hair  and  arranged  her 
skirts  more  decorously  as  Jared  turned  in  at  the 
little  gate,  having  the  air  of  bearing  news  of  some 
sort. 


50  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO 

"  Evenin',"  he  said,  returning  the  general  salu- 
tation as  it  was  given  and  seating  himself  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  step  from  Phoebe  Ann.  There 
was  an  expectant  pause,  but  Jared  did  not  seem 
disposed  to  break  it,  and  Peter  asked  with  neigh- 
borly interest : 

"  Got  y'  spring's  work  'bout  done,  Jer'd  ?  " 

"  Wai,  gittin'  so 's  't  we  c'n  see  a  hole  through," 
and  conversation  lagged  again  until  Aunt  Charity's 
voice  bubbled  up  with  the  question : 

"  How 's  ye'  mother  stan'  it  this  spring,  Jer'd  ?  " 

"  Wai,  'bout  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Git  any  news  down  to  the  store  ? "  Peter 
asked,  becoming  impatient. 

"  Wai,  no,  I  do'  know 's  the'  is,  nothin'  pa'tic'- 
lar.  Oh  "  —  Jared  made  a  pretense  of  suddenly 
remembering  something,  and  began  a  hasty  search 
of  his  pockets,  inside  breast,  outside  breast,  right- 
hand  skirt,  left-hand  skirt ;  then  looked  in  the 
crown  of  his  hat ;  then  returned  to  the  pocket  with 
which  he  began,  and  while  his  left  hand  dwelt  in 
its  depths,  demanded : 

"What '11  ye  give  me  for  a  letter,  Phoebe 
Ann?"  f 

"  You  hain't  got  none,"  she  said,  scanning  his 
face  sharply  after  following  the  movements  of  his 
hand.  "  You  're  jest  a-foolin'." 

"  S'posin'  when  I  was  down  t'  the  pos'-toffice, 
which  I  was,"  he  asked,  smiling  blandly  upon  her, 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO  51 

"  Day,  he  says  to  me,  'The  's  a  letter  for  Watson's 
folks,  'f  you  'd  just 's  lives  as  not  kerry  it  up  to  'em 
as  you  go  'long  '  —  an'  s'posin'  he  gin  it  to  me, 
what  'd  you  gi'  me  for  it  ?  " 

"  Now,  Jer'd  Waite,  you  gi'  me  that  letter  right 
stret  off,"  and  Phoabe  Ann  slid  herself  quickly  along 
the  step  and  snatched  at  Jared's  pocketed  hand. 
But  he  evaded  her,  unfolding  his  long  legs  and 
springing  upright  with  surprising  agility. 

"  Thought  you  said  I  had  n't  got  none  ?  "  He 
drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  held  it  at  arm's 
length  above  her  head,  and  looking  up  at  it,  "  Wai, 
I  swan !  'T  ain't  yourn,  arter  all  said  and  done. 
It 's  for  your  mother,"  and  he  handed  it  to  Aunt 
Charity. 

"  You  hateful  thing !  "  cried  Phoebe  Ann,  turning 
away  from  him. 

Presently,  overcome  by  curiosity,  she  went  up  the 
steps  and  leaned  over  her  mother,  who  was  slowly 
spelling  out  the  superscription.  This  was  scrawled 
over  so  much  of  the  face  of  the  letter  that  the  post- 
master had  found  only  room  enough  to  write  the 
price  of  the  postage  in  one  corner,  and  had  written 
the  name  of  the  office  and  the  date  upon  one  cor- 
ner of  the  back. 

"  Wai,  I  say  for  it,"  Aunt  Charity  declared, 
"  I  du  b'lieve  it 's  for  your  father,  on'y  they  've 
made  a  mistake  and  writ  '  Mrs.'  insteaddy  '  Mr.' ' 

"  Why,  good  land,  mother,  that 's  the  way  they 


52  A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO 

do  nower  days  —  put  the  man's  name  for  the  wo- 
man's, if  she  's  married." 

"  Wai,  I  say  for  't.  That 's  a  great  idee.  Haow  's 
anybody  goin'  to  know  who  's  who  ?  "  She  turned 
the  letter  over  and  over,  and  scanned  it  from  all 
points  of  view.  "  Wonder  where  on  airth  it  come 
from.  I  du  b'lieve  it 's  for  you,  father.  Here,"  and 
she  passed  it  over  to  Peter's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Twenty-five  cents !  I  bet 't  aint  wuth  half  on  't," 
Peter  said,  as  he  read  the  figures  in  the  corner.  He 
then  tried  the  address  at  various  ranges,  upside 
down  and  set  on  end,  and  then  studied  the  back 
where  the  postmark  was  written,  in  a  hand  beyond 
his  ability  to  decipher. 

"  I  don't  see  where  in  tunket  it  come  from,  ner 
who  writ  it." 

"  Mebby  you  could  find  out  by  opening  on  't,"  his 
daughter  suggested. 

He  made  several  guesses  before  resorting  to  this 
expedient,  but  at  last  groped  in  the  depths  of  his 
trousers  pocket  and  drew  his  jackknife  therefrom, 
which  he  opened,  and  began  the  delicate  operation 
of  unsealing  the  letter. 

"  There  's  the  marks  o'  somebody's  thimble  on 
the  wafer,  anyhow,"  he  declared. 

"Ta'  care  you  don't  cut  none  o'  the  writin'," 
Phoebe  Ann  cautioned;  and  his  wife  advised, 
"  You  'd  better  let  PhceV  Ann  take  her  scissors." 

He  persisted  in  the  use  of  the  masculine  imple- 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO  53 

ment  and  method  till  he  succeeded  in  severing  the 
wafer  without  serious  damage  to  the  paper  and  its 
contents. 

The  unusual  stir  upon  the  Watson  porch  had 
not  escaped  the  notice  of  the  Perkinses,  and  they 
now  came  over  to  learn  its  cause,  little  Mrs.  Perkins 
leading  the  way  with  sprightly  steps  and  masking 
the  purpose  of  the  visit  with  the  "  em'tin's  "  pitcher. 
Her  daughter,  not  far  behind,  pretended  a  search 
for  four-leaved  clover,  while  the  male  head  of  the 
household  followed  more  ponderously  in  a  trans- 
parent pretense  of  being  in  no  haste. 

"  Come  right  up,  Mis'  Perkins,"  Aunt  Charity's 
voice  bubbled  hospitably,  in  spite  of  her  interest  in 
the  letter.  "  Phceb'  Ann,  fetch  a  chair  for  Mis' 
Perkins  an'  Alviry." 

Both  protested  they  could  not  stop  a  minute,  but 
took  the  proffered  seats,  and  turned  inquiring  eyes 
upon  Peter  as  he  clumsily  unfolded  the  letter.  Lot 
Perkins  declined  a  higher  seat  than  the  step,  to 
which  he  carefully  lowered  his  bulky  frame,  and  as 
he  glanced  furtively  at  Peter,  excused  his  coming 
by  saying  that  he  "follered  the  craowd,  jes'  tu 
keep  th'  women  folks  straight." 

"  Ye  see,  Jer'd  he  fetched  us  up  a  letter,"  Aunt 
Charity  explained,  "  an'  we  can't  make  aout  who  it 
come  from  ner  sca'cely  who  it 's  fer ;  but  it  'pears 
to  be  fer  father,  an'  so  I  s'pect  it 's  f 'm  some  o'  his 
relations  daown  in  Connect'cut,  erless  it 's  f 'm  his 


54  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO 

brother  'Lias  er  some  o'  his  folks  over  in  the  St. 
Lawrence  country.  It 's  quite  a  spell  since  we  heard 
from  'em,  but  the'  hain't  no  gr'et  hands  to  write, 
none  on  'em." 

"  Like  's  not  you  '11  find  aout  when  you  read  it," 
Mrs.  Perkins  suggested  hopefully. 

"  That 's  jest  what  we're  gittin'  round  to  do  as 
fast  as  we  can,"  Aunt  Charity  said  exultantly; 
"but  father  he  hain't  much  used  to  readin' 
writin'." 

"  Oh,  I  should  luf  tu  hear  from  'Lias's  wife," 
said  Mrs.  Perkins  fervently. 

"  Wai,  I  snum !  "  Peter  ejaculated,  after  intent 
study  of  the  first  words  of  the  epistle.  "  'T  ain't 
writ  to  me,  say  what  ye  will,  erless  it 's  got  to  be 
the  fashion  to  call  a  man  4  aunt.'  Jes'  's  much  sense 
in  that  as  a-callin'  you  'Mis'  Peter.'  Anyway  it 
begins,  '  My  dear  aunt.'  " 

"  Wai,  now,  I  never,"  Aunt  Charity  exclaimed, 
in  fresh  surprise.  "  Then  it 's  f 'm  some  o'  brother 
Isaac's  children,  aout  West.  Now,  I  be  glad." 

"  I  wisht  it  was  f 'm  'Lias's  wife,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Perkins.  "  I  do'  know  when  I've  heard  f  'in  'Lias's 
wife.  We  used  ter  set  the  world  by  one  'nother 
when  we  was  gals." 

"  Phceb'  Ann,  you  take  a  holt  an'  read  it  out  'loud, 
won't  ye  ?  "  Aunt  Charity  bubbled  unctuously,  and 
her  daughter,  taking  the  letter  from  her  father, 
stooped  toward  the  fading  light,  and  began  reading 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO  55 

slowly,  interrupting  herself  with  frequent  comments 
and  inquiries,  and  as  often  interrupted  by  one  and 
another  of  the  audience. 

" '  Buckeye,  O.'  Wonder  what  they  want  to  stop 
and  say  'O'for?" 

"  Why,  goodness'  sakes,  that  stands  for  the 
'Hio,  don't  you  see  ?  "  Mrs.  Perkins  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  yes,  so  it  does,"  Phoebe  Ann  admitted 
frankly.  "  What  a  gump  I  be !  '  Buckeye,  O- 
hio.'  " 

"  Buckeye,  Buckeye  !  "  Mrs.  Perkins  questioned 
her  memory,  and  out  of  it  presently  answered, 
"  Why,  that 's  where  Orson  Holcomb  went  to.  Now 
hain't  that  odd  !  He  used  to  be  tumble  'tentive  tu 
'Lias's  wife  when  she  was  a  gal,  an'  I  use  ter  hector 
her  about  him,  an'  I  guess  she  r'aly  did  more  'n  like 
him,  but  'Lias  cut  him  out.  I  wonder  'f  it  says 
anything  about  him." 

" '  My  dear  aunt,'  "  Phoebe  Ann  resumed.  "  I 
wonder  which  one  on  'em  writ  it.  Le'  's  see,"  and 
she  searched  for  the  writer's  name  at  the  end  of  the 
sheet.  "  Susan,"  she  announced.  "  Susan  Ward, 
wal,  she  hain't  got  merried  yit,  anyway,"  the  maiden 
declared  with  considerable  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,  Susan,  she 's  the  third  gal,"  said  her 
mother.  "  Harri't  's  the  oldest,  then  Lowizy,  an' 
Susan,  an'  Jane  Ann ;  that 's  four,  hain't  it  ?  "  and 
she  went  over  her  pudgy  fingers  to  make  sure  of 
the  number. 


56  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO 

"  Dumb  it !  What  odds  does  it  make  ?  "  Uncle 
Peter  demanded  impatiently. 

"Yis,  four  gals,"  Aunt  Charity  repeated,  pla- 
cidly. "  Nat'rally  Susan  wrote,  hevin'  the  most  time 
an'  hevin'  ben  to  school  most." 

"I  don't  seem  to  remember  Jane  Ann,"  said 
Mrs.  Perkins. 

"  She  was  a  baby  when  they  went  to  the  'Hio. 
My,  how  I  did  feel  for  Marier  a-goin'  that  journey 
an'  that  child  a-teethin' !  " 

"  Mm-m,"  Mrs.  Perkins  moaned  sympathetically. 

"  They  was  six  weeks  a-goin',  an'  it  was  a  good 
three  mont's  afore  we  heerd  they  'd  got  there," 
Aunt  Charity  continued. 

"  What's  the  date  o'  this  'ere  letter  ?  "  inquired 
Lot  Perkins  with  interest. 

"  May  the  six'h,"  responded  the  reader.  "  I  fer- 
got  tu  read  it." 

"  That 's  come  quick.  On'y  three  weeks  sence 
it  started,"  said  Lot.  Peter  uttered  a  sound  of 
impatience,  and  the  reading  continued. 

" '  I  set  down  this  afternoon  to  write  a  few  lines 
to  you  to  inform  you  of  our  health  and  welfare. 
We  air  all  well  as  we  ever  was  except  mother,  she 
enjoys  considerable  poor  health  this  spring.' ' 

"  There  now,"  Aunt  Charity  broke  in,  "  I  allers 
tol'  Marier  she  'd  ortu  commence  a-takin'  picry  jest 
afore  spring  opens,  but  she  never  would,  not  faith- 
ful." 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO  57 

"  I  do'  know  'baout  picry,"  said  Mrs.  Perkins, 
with  slow  impressive  wags  of  her  head,  "  picry 's 
pooty  ha'sh.  Naow,  I  should  say  pepsisiway 
steeped  up  in  cider  or  sperits.  The'  hain't  a  fall 
but  I  hev  him  go  int'  the  woods  an'  git  me  a  hull 
lot  o'  pepsisiway.  It 's  good  for  the  blood,  an'  it 's 
good  for  the  stomerk ;  an'  gives  ye  an  appetite  t' 
eat." 

"  Gosh,  yes !  More  'n  a  ton  on 't  in  the  garret," 
chuckled  her  husband,  boring  Jared's  ribs  with  a 
forefinger. 

"Naow,  Mr.  Perkins,"  his  wife  said  reproach- 
fully. 

"  Wai,"  he  insisted,  "  you  take  an'  put  in  a  hull 
mess  on  't  every  identical  fall,  an'  never  take  none 
out ;  it  'cumulates,  I  tell  ye." 

"  You  can't  say  'at  I  would  n't  ha'  took  some  this 
very  spring  if  the  'd  ben  sperits  in  the  haouse  an'  the 
cider  had  n't  all  been  put  in  the  vinegar  baril." 

"  Dumb  yer  picry  an'  things ! "  Uncle  Peter 
burst  out.  "  Be  ye  goin'  to  read  that  'ere  letter, 
Phceb'  Ann  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  don't  ye  ?  We  're  all  a-waitin',"  Aunt 
Charity  urged,  and  Phoebe  Ann,  having  kept  her 
place  with  her  finger  while  awaiting  opportunity, 
went  on :  "  '  this  spring,  and  father  which  he  is 
troubled  some  with  his  asmy '  "  — 

"  Why  don't  he  smoke  mullein  leaves  ?  Take 
an'  dry  'em  an'  "  —  Mrs.  Perkins  interrupted,  but 


58  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO 

Uncle  Peter's  chair  gave  a  sharp,  ominous  squeak, 
and  the  reading  continued. 

"  '  —  And  Harret,  she  was  married  to  a  man  last 
January.'  ' 

"  'T  would  ha'  ben  cur'us  if  she  'd  merried  a 
woman,"  Mr.  Perkins  interrupted,  but  the  reader 
did  not  deign  to  notice  his  remark. 

" '  His  name  is  Mr.  Baker,  and  mother  says  you 
know  his  folks.' ' 

"  Baker,  good  land,  yes !  "  her  mother's  comfor- 
table voice  bubbled  over  afresh.  "  There  was  True- 
man  Baker  used  to  live  over  on  the  East  .Ridge ; 
he  sol'  out  to  Amos  Jones,  wa'  n't  it,  father  ?  Yes, 
I  'm  pooty  sure  it  was.  An'  wa'  n't  Amos'  wife  a 
Carpenter  f '111  over  t'  other  side  o'  the  maountain  ? 
Seems  'ough  she  was.  Anyway,  I  know  when 
father  an'  I  went  to  the  f un'al  —  you  remember  it, 
don't  ye,  father  ?  I  sh'd  think  ye  might,  'cause  you 
forgot  your  han'kercher  an'  stopt  to  the  store  an' 
bought  a  hul  yard  o'  ginggum  for  ye  a  han'ker- 
cher, not  hemmed  ner  nothin'.  My,  wa'  n't  I  thank- 
ful 'at  the  sermon  wa'  n't  'fectin'  an'  you  did  n't  haf 
ter  haul  it  out  ary  oncte  'fore  folks.  I  got  that 
ginggum  yet,  an'  you  tew  good  bendiners  to  hum. 
There  was  a  hul  mess  o'  folks  there,  strangers  to  us, 
her  relations  I  s'pose.  It  was  consumptiern  'at  ailed 
her,  though  she  wa'  n't  sick  more  'n  fo'  five  year  'at 
we  heered  on." 

44  Sho,  kinder  sudden,  wa'  n't  it  ?  "  and  Lot  gave 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO  59 

Jared's  ribs  another  poke,  but  Aunt  Charity  went 
on  with  the  Baker  history. 

"  Trueman  he  went  out  intu  York  State,  some'eres 
where  the  canawl  goes,  an'  I  hain't  heered  nothin' 
on  him  this  ever  so  long.  Mebby  it 's  some  o'  his 
sons.  I  should  think  she  might  ha'  wrote  more  par- 
tic'lar.  Then  there  was  Bakers  up  to  Starkton,  Jed 
and  Ph'leman,  cousins  o'  his'n,  and  Jed's  wife  was 
some  related  to  Amos  Jones'  wife,  I  do'  know 
ezackly  how,  an'  Ph'leman  he  merried  a  school- 
marm.  Why,  Mis'  Perkins,  you  know  who  she  was, 
for  I  've  heered  you  tell  how  't  you  went  to  her  in 
the  flat-ruffed  schoolhaouse." 

"  My  sakes,  yes.  Mandy  Blake.  My,  wa'  n't 
she  cross  ?  I  pity  the  man  'at  hed  her." 

"  Wai,  they  went  off  West,  where  I  du  not  know  ; 
an'  it  may  be  it 's  some  o'  them  Harri't  's  merried. 
An'  the'  was  a  fam'ly  o'  Bakers  over  to  Highfield 
'at  I  did  n't  know  so  much  about,  an'  it  might 
be  one  o'  them.  I  wish 't  she  'd  wrote  more  par- 
tic'lar." 

"  Mebby,  't  was  Baker  in  the  spelling-book,"  Mr. 
Perkins  guessed. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Perkins,"  his  wife  mildly  reproved, 
"  you  quit  a-foolin'." 

"  Dumb  it,  I  wish  't  she  had  n't  merried  nob'dy, 
an'  then  mebby  we  might  ha'  heered  suthin'  o'  some 
account,"  Uncle  Peter  growled,  in  such  a  tone  that 
his  wife  gently  suggested  :  "  Like  'nough  you  'd  bet- 


60  A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO 

ter  go  on  wi'  your  readin',  Phoeb'  Ann,"  and  the 
reading  began  again. 

"  ;  He  's  a  widower  with  five  children  and  a  good 
farm.  We  think  Harret  has  got  a  good  start  in 
life  for  all  waiting  some  years.  Lowizy  is  going  to 
be  married  in  July,  and  you  may  hear  interesting 
news  of  others  of  the  family.  Harret  says  to  tell 
Cousin  Phosby  Ann  she  ought  to  come  out  West ! ' ' 

"  The  impudence,"  cried  the  reader  ;  "  jest 's 
if  "  —  but  checked  herself  when  no  one  else  ap- 
peared to  discover  cause  for  indignation,  and  went 
on. 

" '  We  have  got  twenty  acres  of  wheat,  which 
looks  nice,  and  father  expects  to  have  as  many 
acres  planted  to  corn  '  "  — 

"  Gosh,  twenty  acres  o'  corn,"  Mr.  Perkins  said 
incredulously. 

" '  We  keep  ten  cows,  and  have  got  a  dozen 
steers  fat  enough  to  go  now.  How  many  hogs  I  do 
not  know,  and  poultry  father  says  more  than  he 
wants.'  " 

"  Hain't  that  just  like  the  men,"  said  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, "  allers  a-flingin'  out  suthin'  about  poultry  ? 
But  mind  ye,  when  it  comes  to  eatin'  of  poultry 
an'  aigs  —  My  !  " 

"  I  guess  you  '11  haf ter  light  a  light  'fore  you  can 
read  any  more,"  said  Aunt  Charity,  noticing  how 
close  her  daughter's  nose  was  getting  to  the  sheet 
of  foolscap. 


A  LETTER  FROM   THE   'HIO  61 

"  Gol  dumb  it,"  Uncle  Peter  exclaimed,  with  in- 
creasing profanity,  "  can't  ye  gab  jest  as  well  wi'out 
alight?" 

"  An'  by'm  by  it  '11  come  daylight  ag'in,"  Lot 
Perkins  remarked  cheerfully,  and  then  in  surprise 
as  he  casually  scanned  the  eastern  horizon,  "  What 
in  time  !  Why,  it  hain't  a-comin'  yet,  is  't  ?  " 

His  tone  and  suddenly  alert  attitude  drew  the 
attention  of  all  the  company,  and  the  gaze  of  all 
followed  his  to  a  faint  illumination  of  the  sky 
behind  the  crest  of  a  ridge  half  a  mile  away.  The 
lower  stars  faded  in  the  increasing  light.  The  hill 
crest  grew  blacker  against  it.  Lot  Perkins,  rising 
with  deliberate  haste,  declared  in  the  drawl  that  no 
excitement  could  greatly  quicken : 

"  By  grab  !  it 's  a  haouse  afire  !  Jest  the  p'int  o' 
Miller's  !  Git  some  pails  an'  come  on,  men  !  " 

He  took  the  three  steps  of  the  porch  at  one  stride, 
with  another  surmounted  the  commingled  skirts  of 
the  two  matrons,  then  plunged  into  the  kitchen, 
and  swooped  up  the  water-pails  in  the  sink,  and 
bringing  them  forth  unemptied,  handed  one  to 
Jared,  as  he  strode  beside  him  toward  the  gate, 
which  closed  behind  them  with  a  rebounding  clang 
before  the  rest  of  the  company  were  well  afoot. 

"  Jes'  's  like  's  not  it '  s  four  mild  off,"  said  Uncle 
Peter,  standing  unmoved  amid  the  flutter  of  woman- 
kind. "  You  can't  never  tell  how  fur  fire  is." 

"  The 's  the  milk  pails  on  the  back  stoop.     I  '11 


62  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  'HIO 

fetch  ye  one,  father,"  and  Aunt  Charity  waddled 
through  the  kitchen  with  a  ponderous  tread  that 
evoked  a  responsive  clatter  from  stove  utensils  and 
loosely  fitting  window  sashes,  and  presently  returned 
with  a  pail  so  scrupulously  clean  that  it  cost  her 
housewifely  soul  a  pang  to  devote'  it  to  such  use. 

"  I  don't  see  what  the  tarnal  haouse  had  to  go  an' 
ketch  afire  for  jest  as  Phceb'  Ann  got  where  it  was 
interesting"  said  Uncle  Peter,  as  he  permitted  the 
pail  to  be  slipped  upon  his  arm  and  then  took  his 
way  down  the  path,  behind  Pho3be  Ann  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  others,  bemoaning  the  fire  and  specu- 
lating concerning  the  cause. 

"  Poor  Mis'  Miller !  An'  it  just  painted,  inside 
an'  out,  last  year,"  Aunt  Charity  wailed  from  the 
depths  of  her  fat  bosom. 

"Jest  kerlessness,  you  may  depend,"  declared 
Mrs.  Perkins,  when  Elvira  wondered  in  a  timid 
voice  "  if  it  ketched  er  was  sot." 

"  Ashes  in  a  berril  er  a  sto'  pipe  in  a  chahmber. 
It  mos'  allers  is." 

"  I  du  hope  it  won't  bring  on  one  o'  her  spells," 
Aunt  Charity  panted,  as  she  laboriously  climbed 
the  wall  beyond  the  road.  "  My  sakes  !  Hain't  you 
spry,  you  an'  Alviry  ?  Won't  you  jest  take  a  holt  o' 
this  dipper  ?  Ugh  !  My  laigs  be  so  short.  I  thought 
it  might  come  handy  to  dip  up  with.  There, 
thank  goodness,  I  be  over.  An'  ef  your  man  an' 
Jer'd  hain't  halfway  up  the  hill,  an'  Phoeb'  Ann 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO  63 

most  ketched  up  wi'  'em,  an'  father,  where  's  he  ?  I 
du  b'lieve  he  's  tumbled  int'  the  brook  !  Oh,  there 
he  is !  My  sakes  alive,  how  it  gains  !  It  '11  be  clean 
burnt  aout  afore  I  git  where  I  can  see,  but  you 
need  n't  wait  for  me,"  she  called  after  the  retreat- 
ing figures  with  noble  unselfishness  while  her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  brightening  sky. 

The  frogs  in  the  flag-bordered  pools  of  the  brook 
ceased  their  monotonous  chime  as  the  straggling 
volunteer  fire  brigade  splashed  by.  Startled  birds 
fluttered  from  the  grass  before  it.  The  cows 
couched  on  the  dry  knolls  stopped  the  slow  chew- 
ing of  cuds  to  stare  in  wonder  at  the  strange  noc- 
turnal invasion  till  it  passed  unheeding  them,  and 
then,  with  deep  drawn  sighs  of  satisfaction,  they 
resumed  their  interrupted  rumination. 

As  Lot  Perkins  and  Jared  drew  near  the  hill 
crest,  followed  closely  by  Phoebe  Ann,  sound  of 
lungs  and  strong  of  limb,  there  appeared  above  it 
a  broad  point  of  smokeless  flame  that  grew  and 
broadened  as  they  climbed,  all  growing  short  of 
breath  at  each  step  of  the  steep  ascent  and  almost 
choked  by  the  throbbing  of  their  hearts.  When 
they  reached  the  top,  it  was  observed  by  those  who 
followed  that  they  stopped  and  showed  no  intention 
of  going  farther.  Lot  sat  down  upon  his  inverted 
pail,  and  Jared  placed  his  in  a  like  position  for 
Phoebe  Ann,  and  stood  near  her  with  arms  akimbo. 

Uncle  Peter's  scant  breath  was  so  nearly  spent 


64  A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO 

that  he  was  glad  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  those 
behind  him. 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  by  their  a-stoppin'  it 's  all  up," 
Mrs.  Perkins  sighed,  as  she  and  Elvira  joined  him. 
"I  wonder  if  all  the  buildin's  ketched?" 

"  I  don't  s'pose  it 's  no  use  a-goin'  no  furder," 
Aunt  Charity  panted  as  she  came  up  with  them ; 
but  with  the  funereal  habit  asserting  itself  in  spite 
of  all  weariness,  added,  "  Sence  we  're  so  nigh  we 
might 's  well  go  up  an'  view  th'  remains." 

So  they  toiled  on  up  the  last  steep  slope,  each  in 
silent  preparation  for  the  scene  of  desolation  and 
ruin  which  awaited  them.  So  they  came  to  the 
hilltop,  and  saw  on  the  ridge  beyond,  embowered 
in  its  abundant  fruit  trees,  the  unharmed  Miller 
homestead,  without  so  much  as  a  smoke  wreath 
climbing  from  its  ample  chimney.  Thrice  its 
breadth  above  it  swam  the  moon  a  little  past  its 
full.  Lot  Perkins,  pointing  to  it,  said  laconically  : 
"  There 's  your  fire !  " 

Uncle  Peter  gazed  a  moment  in  speechless  dis- 
gust, and  then  burst  out  briefly,  "  Dumb  the  haouse, 
I  wish 't  it  had  took  afire !  " 

"  Wai,"  said  Lot,  getting  to  his  feet,  "  sin'  the 
show  's  over,  I  s'pose  we  might  as  well  go  hum  the 
nighest  way,  you  an'  I  an'  Alviry,  Mis'  Perkins ! 
Now,  don't  ye  fergit  whose  wife  ye  be,  marm,  an' 
go  to  lookin'  back,  'cause  the  cows  hain't  ben 
salted  an'  they  might  eat  ye." 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE   'HIO  65 

Jared  an  Phoebe  Ann  lingered  last,  and  strolled 
leisurely  far  behind  the  others. 

"  When  I  fust  got  aholt  o'  that  'ere  letter  I  was 
'feared  you  'd  got  a  feller  'way  off  some'eres,"  said 
Jared,  after  several  attempts  to  clear  his  throat. 

"  Why,  Jer'd,  what  'd  you  care  'f  I  had  ?  " 

"  I  du  care." 

"No,  Jer'd,  I  hain't  got  no  feller,  fur  ner 
near." 

"  Say,  Phoebe  Ann,"  he  said  desperately,  "  if  you 
ever  do  wanter  git  married,  you  need  n't  never  go 
to  the  'Hio  tu.  Not  if  you  could  stan'  it  along 
wi'  me." 

The  love-song  of  the  frogs  was  ringing  again, 
and  the  insistent,  monotonous  trill  was  not  broken 
when  Jared  and  Phoebe  Ann  came  slowly  to  the 
brookside,  whispering  infrequent  words  into  each 
other's  hungry  ears.  Nor  did  it  cease  to  shake  the 
night  air,  fragrant  with  the  warm  breath  of  the 
earth  and  the  faint  aroma  of  the  sweet-flag,  when 
she  said  with  a  startled  voice :  "  There,  Jer'd 
Waite!  I  du  b'lieve  I've  gone  an'  lost  that  letter 
for  good  and  all !  " 

So  they  went  back  up  the  hill,  searching  the 
ground,  step  by  step,  with  the  moonlight  making 
one  long  shadow  behind  them. 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

LOOKING  eastward  from  Lake  Champlain,  where 
it  is  bordered  by  the  township  of  Lakefield,  the  first 
eminence  that  catches  the  glance  that  does  not  over- 
shoot to  the  nobler  heights  of  the  Green  Mountains, 
far  beyond,  is  Shag  Back.  All  Lakefield  people, 
who  have  proper  town  pride,  speak  of  it  as  Shag 
Back  Mountain,  or,  quite  as  often,  as  "the  Moun- 
tain," with  the  same  respect  that  Camel's  Hump 
and  Mansfield  are  spoken  of  by  those  who  dwell 
in  their  mighty  shadows.  But  when  the  mountain 
folk  have  occasion  to  speak  of  it,  as  they  sometimes 
do  when  in  its  neighborhood,  it  is  only  as  "  that 
hill "  or  "  that  cobble,"  and,  in  fact,  if  set  on  a 
side  of  one  of  their  grand  familiars  it  would  be 
hardly  a  noticeable  ridge. 

Forty  years  ago  or  more,  Shag  Back  was  so 
famous  for  its  crops  of  blueberries  and  huckleber- 
ries, that  people  came  to  it  from  miles  away  to 
gather  them  ;  but  from  some  unknown  cause  these 
crops  have  failed  continuously  for  many  years. 

In  the  fruitful  years,  when  a  nimble-fingered 
picker  might  fill  a  milk-pail  in  an  hour,  a  French 
Canadian  lived  in  a  little  house  standing  so  near 
the  foot  of  Shag  Back  that  the  sunrise  came  late 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  67 

to  it  over  the  mountain's  rugged  crest  of  pines  and 
gnarled  oaks. 

Theophile  Dudelant  was  the  name  that  parents 
and  family  had  given  him,  but  his  Yankee  neigh- 
bors called  him  Duffy  Doodlelaw.  He  liked  neither ; 
for  the  old  name  was  too  suggestive  of  his  cast-off 
nationality  when  properly  pronounced,  and  the  at- 
tempts of  New  England  tongues  thereat  sounded 
so  oddly  that  people  were  apt  to  laugh  when  they 
first  heard  it.  So  he  cast  about  for  a  better-sound- 
ing name,  and  as  no  one  could  translate  for  him 
the  one  he  bore,  he  hit  upon  one  which,  to  his  ears, 
most  resembled  it,  and  presently  announced  that 
his  name  in  English  was  David  Douglas,  by  which 
hereafter  he  would  be  known. 

Some  of  his  transplanted  Canadian  friends,  who, 
casting  off  with  their  moccasins  the  names  of  ances- 
tors that  had  toiled  and  fought  with  Champlain 
and  Frontenac,  had  become  Littles,  Shorts,  Stones, 
Rocks,  Grigwires,  Greenoughs,  Loverns,  and  what 
not,  accepted  it  as  genuine,  and  were  particular  to 
address  him  and  speak  of  him  as  David  Douglas ; 
but  to  his  great  disgust  the  Yankees  continued  to 
call  him  Duffy  Doodlelaw.  Then  he  felt  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake  and  rechristened  himself  David 
Dudley  ;  but  this  cognomen  would  stick  no  better 
than  the  other. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  troublesome  question  of 
names,  quite  as  much  as  of  the  onions  he  was  weed- 


68  THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

ing,  one  August  forenoon,  when  the  sun's  rays  fell 
hot  upon  him. 

"  Douglas ;  Dudley  ;  Ah  do'  know  if  one  of  it  was 
de  bes',  or  one  of  it  was  de  bes',"  he  soliloquized, 
as,  squatted  in  the  path  between  the  beds,  he 
tugged  at  a  stubborn  bunch  of  mallows.  He  car- 
ried on  all  conversations  with  himself  in  English, 
perhaps  to  perfect  himself  in  the  language,  but 
more  likely  to  show  his  mastery  of  it.  And  he  had 
no  one  else  to  talk  with,  for  the  two  youngest  chil- 
dren, who  had  been  left  at  home  while  their  mother 
and  the  rest  went  huckleberrying,  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived at  intelligible  speech.  Now  and  then,  when 
irresistibly  attracted  by  the  onions  they  attempted 
to  pull  one,  their  father  would  bellow  hoarsely  at 
them  in  French,  or  roar  the  name  of  the  delinquent 
in  English,  but  he  had  nothing  further  to  say  to 
them.  He  continued  his  self-converse  undisturbed,' 
whether  they  played  and  laughed,  or  fought  and 
squalled. 

"  Douglas  ;  prob'ly  dat  was  Dudelant.  Dudley  ; 
prob'ly  dat  was  Dudelant.  Which  of  it  was  saoun' 
de  bes'  ?  Ah  do'  know,  me.  Good  mawny,  Mista 
Douglas ! "  addressing  himself  in  his  blandest 
voice.  "  Dat  was  saoun'  pooty  gooode,  bah  jinjo," 
he  commented,  and  Mr.  Douglas  began  to  frame  a 
polite  response  to  himself.  "  Pooty  well,  t'ank  you, 
Mista  "  —  when  he  caught  sight  of  a  youngster 
just  snatching  an  onion  stalk.  "  Pren'  garrrde !  " 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  69 

he  roared,  and  the  little  thief  scrambled  away  on 
all  fours  with  the  purloined  morsel  between  his 
teeth. 

Then  Theophile  resumed,  while  he  tugged  at  the 
refractory  weed,  "Pooty  well,  t'ank  you,  Mista 
Dud  "  — ,  but  the  mallow  suddenly  broke  or  loos- 
ened its  hold,  and  he  sat  down  unexpectedly  while 
the  mallow's  roots,  flying  aloft  with  his  hands, 
rained  a  shower  of  dry  earth  upon  his  upturned 
face. 

"  Sss-a-cre  ton  sac' !  "  he  hissed  and  groaned,  as 
he  got  upon  his  feet  .and,  wiping  the  dust  from  his 
eyes  with  the  backs  of  both  hands,  turned  to  view 
the  havoc  he  had  made.  "  Bah  jinjo !  Ah  '11  spilte 
more  as  half  pecks  onion ! "  he  said  sorrowfully. 
"  Wai,  sah,  Ah  guess  Ah  was  be  Mista  Dudley. 
Mista  Douglas  he  ain't  sim  for  be  very  good  lucky, 
—  he  si'  daown  on  too  much  onion  !  " 

Accepting  this  omen  as  determining  his  name 
henceforth,  he  was  familiarizing  himself  with  it  by 
frequent  repetitions,  when  he  heard  approaching 
footsteps,  and  voices  hushing  to  low  tones  and 
whispers  as  they  drew  nearer. 

Looking  a  little  beyond  the  rough  paling  of  his 
garden,  he  saw  a  pretty,  fair-haired  girl  of  sixteen 
years,  and  two  small  boys  two  and  four  years 
younger,  in  whose  complexions  and  features, 
though  sunburned  and  more  coarsely  moulded, 
brotherhood  with  her  was  plainly  discernible.  The 


70  THE   SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

three  looked  so  good-humored  and  happy  that  it 
seemed  hardly  possible  for  one  to  meet  them  in 
any  other  mood,  but  each  carried  a  pail  or  basket 
with  the  evident  purpose  of  berry-picking,  and 
Theophile's  heart  was  at  once  embittered  against 
them,  and  he  bent  over  his  onions  pretending  to 
be  unaware  of  visitors.  But  when  the  girl  came  up 
to  the  fence,  timidly  laying  her  hands  upon  it,  start- 
ing shyly  when  the  tin  pail  rang  against  the  palings, 
and  accosted  him  with  a  pleasant  "  Good-morning, 
sir,"  he  could  no  longer  ignore  their  presence,  but 
arose  and  faced  the  honest  blue  eyes  with  profuse 
simulated  courtesy. 

"  Gooode  mawny,  mees.  Pooty  gooode  day  dis 
mawny,  don't  it  ?  Pooty  hot,  dough,  an'  Ah  guess 
he  '11  rain  some  t'under,  by  'n'  by,  Ah  guess,"  and 
he  scanned  the  brassy  sky  in  which  there  was  not 
a  promise  that  rain  would  ever  fall  again.  "  Yas, 
sah,  he  '11  rain  'fore  soon,  Ah  b'lieve  so,  me." 

The  girl  cast  a  questioning  look  toward  the  lake, 
whence  summer  showers  oftenest  came. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Do  you  think  it  will  rain  ?  My ! 
I  don't  want  to  get  wet,  but  I  'most  wish  it  would 
rain,  for  father  says  everything  needs  it,  and  my 
posy  garden  is  all  dryin'  up.  My  chiny  asters  is 
all  wiltin'." 

"Ah,  ma  poo'  leetly  gal!"  cried  Theophile, 
raising  his  outspread  palms  toward  her,  and  then 
dropping  them  by  his  thighs.  "  You  '11  ain't  want 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHEK  71 

for  git  ketch  in  t'under,  up  on  de  mountain.  De 
litlin  was  stroke  more  as  half  de  tree,  ev'ry  tarn  it 
t'under,  an'  de  t'under  stroke  more  as  half  de  tree 
ev'ry  tarn  it  litlin.  Oh,  bah  jinjo !  But  prob'ly 
you  '11  ain't  goin'  dar  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  "  we  Ve  come  huckle- 
berryin',  and  we  wanted  to  ask  you  where  the  best 
place  is  ;  we  don't  know  anything  about  the  moun- 
tain." 

"Goin'  on  de  mount'in !  'Lone?"  said  Theo- 
phile,  raising  his  voice  in  a  horrified  tone,  with  an 
exclamation  point  and  an  interrogation  point  bris- 
tling at  the  end  of  every  word.  "  One  leetly  gaal 
an'  two  leetly  boy  ?  Oh,  bah  jinjo  !  you  can'  go ! 
Ah  can'  let  you  went !  You  be  all  eat  awp  'fore 
two  hour !  You  be  all  tored  to  piecens !  "  and  his 
upraised  hands  fell  to  clawing  the  air  with  hooked 
fingers. 

The  smile  faded  out  of  the  girl's  face  as  she 
lifted  her  startled  eyes  to  Theophile's,  and  her 
parted  lips  framed  an  inarticulate  "  Why  ?  " 

"  Was  it  possibly  you  '11  ain't  hear  'baout  de 
pant'er  ?  "  She  shook  her  head,  and  her  brothers, 
who  had  stood  apart,  fidgeting  impatiently  over  the 
delay,  were  drawn  near  with  quickened  interest  at 
the  mention  of  a  panther. 

"  Naw  ?  Wai,  bah  jinjo !  Dey  was  twenty, 
prob'ly  forty  folkses  have  hear  it  yaller!  Ev'ry 
day,  ev'ry  day  !  Ah  '11  hear  it  to-day,  myse'f,  yes, 


72  THE   SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

sah  !  Prob'ly  *f  you  '11  listen  leetly  whir,  you  hear 
it  you'se'f.  Dah !  "  lifting  his  left  hand  toward  the 
mountain  and  rolling  his  eyes  in  the  same  direction, 
from  whence  came  the  snarling  squall  of  a  young 
crow,  "  ain't  you  '11  hear  dat  noise  ?  " 

"  That  sounds  jus'  like  a  crow,"  the  elder  boy  re- 
marked, after  listening  a  moment  with  held  breath. 

"  Cr-row  !  "  Theophile  growled  contemptuously. 
"  Bah  jinjo,  Ah  guess  you  ain't  t'ink  he  was  cr-row 
'f  he  '11  gat  hees  claw  in  you.  Yas,  sah,  he  could 
make  ev'ry  kan'  of  noise,  ev'ry  was  be  make.  Like 
blue  jay,  like  cr-row,  like  hawk,  like  howl,  like  huo- 
mans,  like  bebbee,  w'en  he  '11  try  for  foolish  some- 
body for  come  near  it.  But  you  '11  wan'  hear  it  w'en 
he  '11  spik  hees  own  language !  He  '11  mek  you 
hairs  froze  awp  straight  on  tawp  you'  heads,  dat 
time  !  Oh,  it  was  dreadfully !  Ma  wife  her  '11  go 
for  try  git  few  hawkleberree  for  make  happlesasses 
for  de  chil'en,  tudder  day,  an'  her  '11  come  home  so 
scare  of  dat  pant'er  her  mos'  can'  breev,  her  '11  make 
so  much  run  'way  from  it.  Her  so  scare  naow,  her 
ain't  stay  home  'mos'  any,  so  close  de  mount'in. 
Her  '11  gone  vees'tin'  to-day  and  all  de  chil'en  can 
walked,  'cep'  de  bebbee,  her  carry.  An'  one  time, 
if  you  '11  b'lieve,  dat  pant'er  was  'mos'  scarit  me ; 
but  Ah  '11  ain't  scare.  No,  sah  !  He  gat  to  be  more 
as  one  pant'er  for  scare  me,  Ah  guess,"  he  said,  in 
a  big  voice,  ending  with  a  bellow  of  scornful  laughter 
that  might  have  made  a  panther's  blood  run  cold. 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  73 

"  Ough,  the  hateful  thing !  "  the  girl  shuddered, 
as  she  cast  a  frightened  glance  toward  the  moun- 
tain where  the  terrible  beast  was  lurking.  "  It 's 
too  bad  !  We  wanted  so  to  get  some  for  mother. 
She 's  kind  o'  peaked  this  summer,  and  hankers 
after  huckleberries,  and  we  've  come  'most  three 
miles,"  she  explained  to  Theophile.  "  If  there 
was  only  somebody  to  go  with  us  !  You  could  n't, 
just  till  we  could  git  a  few  ?  "  she  asked  timidly, 
after  a  little  struggle  with  her  bashfulness.  "Fa- 
ther 'd  pay  you  ;  I  know  he  would.'7 

Theophile  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
vaunting  his  bravery,  for  nothing  was  further  from 
his  purpose  than  to  guide  any  one,  out  of  his  own 
family,  to  the  fruitful  fields  that  he  had  set  the 
mythical  panther  to  guard. 

"It  will  make  me  so  glad  for  go,  if  Ah  can, 
but  Ah  can'  go  an'  lef  ma  leetly  chil'en,  an'  Ah 
can'  take  it.  Oh,  no,  no.  Ah  can'  go  to-day, 
ain't  you  see?  But  prob'ly  Ah  could  go  some 
mawny  very  airly,  an'  peek  some  for  you,  —  very 
airly,  'fore  you  can  gat  here.  Ah  spec'  dough, 
de  hawkleberrees  all  dry  awp,  he  ain't  rain,  so 
long  tarn." 

"Say,  Lib,"  said  the  older  boy,  after  a  long, 
wistful  look  at  the  steeps  above,  whose  tops  were 
level,  with  ledges  fringed  with  a  shrubby  growth 
that  promised  huckleberries,  "le'  's  go  up  a  piece; 
I  ain't  afraid  !  " 


74  THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  in  a  tremor  of  alarm,  "  you 
must  n't  go  a  step  ! " 

"  Oh,  'f raid  cat !  You  can  stay  here  'f  you  wan' 
to,  an*  me  an'  Abner  '11  go.  Come  on,  Abner," 
he  cried,  with  boyish  bravado,  and  took  a  few  steps 
toward  the  woods ;  but  Abner  did  not  follow. 

"  Oh,  Johnny,"  she  pleaded,  "  be  a  good  boy, 
and  le'  's  go  home ;  you  know  we  ought  to." 

He  would  not  stop  for  being  told  he  must,  but 
was  not  at  all  unwilling  to  do  so  when  coaxed,  for 
he  began  to  feel  a  queer  sensation  creeping  and 
crawling  down  his  back  till  it  unpleasantly  tickled 
his  toes.  A  great  hawk  was  wheeling  in  slow  cir- 
cles above  the  mountain  and  gasping  out  tremu- 
lous, angry  cries,  as  if  he  spied  some  hateful 
intruder  prowling  beneath  him.  Perhaps  he  saw 
the  panther. 

"  He  ain't  'fred  for  go  all  'lone,  Ah  know  dat," 
said  Theophile,  in  a  wheedling  tone,  "  but  it  would 
be  weeked !  —  weeked  !  for  go  in  so  danger.  An' 
he  was  good  boy,  Ah  know  by  hees  look  of  it." 

"  If  I  'd  only  fetched  my  gun,  I  'd  resk  anything 
touchin'  us,"  said  Johnny,  feeling  braver  with  the 
mountain  behind  him. 

"  No,  sir !  I  guess  nothing  would,"  Abner  said ; 
and  to  Theophile,  "  He  shot  a  fox  last  fall  when 
he  went  huntin*  with  Uncle  Abner,  did  n't  you, 
Johnny  ?  A  real  fox,  sir,  and  big !  wa'  n't  he, 
Johnny?"  and  Johnny  nodded  a  modest  assent, 


THE   SHAG   BACK   PANTHER  75 

looking  down  at  the  ant-hill  he  was  kicking,  yet 
casting  a  furtive,  sidelong  glance  the  while  to  note 
how  the  story  of  his  doughty  deed  was  received 
by  the  Canadian.  He  was  quite  disgusted  that  it 
excited  no  more  surprise  than  was  expressed  in 
the  remark : 

"  Oh,  he  keel  fox,  hein  ?  Wai,  sah,  de  shoot 
dat  will  keel  fox  was  jes'  make  pant'er  more  mad- 
der, for  hate  you  wus.  Wai,  Ah  mus'  take  care  ma 
onion  an'  ma  bebbee,  or  ma  hwoman  her  '11  scol' ! 
Ha !  ha  !  Ah  '11  more  'f  red  ma  hwoman  as  Ah  was 
'fred  pant'er.  Ha!  ha!" 

"  Oh,  dear,  suz  !  "  Elizabeth  sighed,  "  I  s'pose 
we  must  go  home.  Come,  boys.  Good-by,  Mis- 
ter  ?" 

"Douglas  —  Dudley,  Ah  meant,  was  ma  nem, 
David  Dudley.  Good-by,  mees,  good-by.  Ah  be 
sorry  you  '11  can'  gat  some  berree." 

When  he  had  seen  the  disappointed  little  party 
climb  the  second  fence  on  their  homeward  way,  he 
turned  again  to  his  lazy  labor,  chuckling  over  his 
mean  achievement.  "  Pant'er  on  de  mount'in ! 
Oh,  bah  jinjo !  It  took  David  Dugley  for  foolish 
de  Yankee,  —  ha !  ha  !  ha-e-ee  !  " 

Hot,  tired,  and  disheartened,  the  girl  and  her 
brothers  went  across  the  fields  that  seemed  to  have 
doubled  their  weary  width  since  they  made  their 
hopeful  morning  journey  over  them.  In  the  pas- 
tures where  the  sheep  stood  in  huddles  under  the 


76  THE  SHAG  BACK   PANTHER 

trees,  with  noses  close  to  the  ground,  making  no 
motion  but  when  they  kicked  at  the  pestering  flies, 
the  dry  grass  was  more  slippery  underfoot  and 
the  stubble  of  the  shorn  meadows  was  sharper. 
The  piercing  cry  of  the  locusts  and  the  husky  clap- 
ping of  their  wings  sounded  more  tiresome,  hotter, 
and  dryer ;  and  they  had  not  noticed  till  now  that 
the  bobolinks  had  lost  their  song  and  gay  attire, 
and  were  gathered  in  little  flocks  along  thickets 
of  elders,  raspberry  bushes,  and  goldenrods  that 
almost  hid  the  fences,  though  they  were  so  high  as 
to  seem  almost  insurmountable  barriers.  Here 
the  bumble-bees  droned  from  aster  to  goldenrod, 
from  willow-herb  to  fireweed,  after  brief,  fumbling 
explorations  of  each  as  if  they  found  no  sweet  in 
any,  and  the  kingbirds  made  hovering  flights 
from  stake  to  stake,  vexing  the  weary  girl  with 
their  needless  alarm  and  causeless  scolding;  and, 
indeed,  everything  in  nature  seemed  out  of  tune, 
with  nothing  in  it  satisfied,  or  satisfying,  or  plea- 
sant or  cheery.  When  they  came  to  the  edge  of 
the  meadow  behind  their  own  home,  how  far  away, 
and  like  an  ever-receding  mirage,  the  red  house 
and  gray  barns  looked,  though  they  could  hear 
the  hens  cackling.  They  thought  they  must  die 
of  thirst  before  they  could  reach  the  well,  though 
they  could  see  the  sweep  slanting  against  the  sky, 
and  even  the  slender  pole  that  hung  from  its  tip. 
When  at  last  they  came  near  it,  a  tall  man  was 


THE   SHAG  BACK   PANTHER  77 

drawing  up  the  bucket,  intently  watching  its  slow 
ascent  with  such  care,  as  if  it  was  bringing  up  his 
fortune  and  every  drop  was  a  diamond,  that  he  did 
not  see  them  till  they  were  close  upon  him. 

The  sunburned  face  he  turned  toward  them,  with 
a  little  expression  of  surprise,  wore  also  such  habit- 
ual guise  of  good-nature  that  one  would  guess  he 
could  never  be  much  at  variance  with  anything  — 
unless  it  might  be  work. 

"  Why,  younkits,  you  back  so  soon  ?  Where  's 
you'  baries  ?  "  seeing  how  lightly  hung  the  empty 
pails  and  baskets ;  and  then,  with  a  little  chuckle, 
"  Wai,  I  swan  !  If  you  hain't  busters  !  "  His  quick 
eye  noted  how  longingly  theirs  were  bent  on  the 
dripping  bucket.  "Dry,  be  ye?  Wai,  this  come 
f 'm  the  northeast  corner,  an'  it 's  colder  'n  charity. 
Here 's  a  dipperful  to  start  on,  Libby."  He 
passed  a  brimming  quart  to  his  niece,  who  held 
it  while  her  brothers  drank  before  she  took  a  sip. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Abner,  there  's  a  panther  ?  "  Johnny 
gasped,  when  the  first  draught  had  loosened  his 
parched  tongue. 

"A  what?"  asked  the  uncle,  backing  into  an 
easy  position  against  the  curb. 

"  A  panther,  a  real  panther.  Y*es,  sir,  there  is !  " 
in  earnest  protest  against  the  incredulity  expressed 
in  his  uncle's  face ;  "  on  Shag  Back  Mountain, 
there  is !  " 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?   Wa'  n't  it  a  woo'  chuck  ?  " 


78  THE   SHAG  BACK   PANTHER 

Uncle  Abner  asked,  dallying  with  the  returned 
dipper  in  a  way  that  shocked  Elizabeth's  house- 
wifely ideas  of  neatness. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Abner !  "  cried  Johnny  reproach- 
fully. "No,  sir,  we  did  n't  see  him,  but  a  man 
told  us,  that 's  heard  him,  an'  he 's  scairt  every- 
body to  death,  so  they  dassent  go  there  any  more." 

"  Who  's  the  man  ?  " 

"  Wha'  'd  he  say  his  name  was,  Lib  ?  Anyways, 
he  's  a  Frenchman  that  lives  up  there,  and  he 
'pears  to  be  real  clever,  and  candid,  and  was  awful 
'fraid  we  'd  go  and  git  hurt,  but  I  would  'f  I  'd  had 
my  gun.  My  sakes  !  —  if  I  could  shoot  a  panther  !  " 

"  The  confaounded  crit,ter  !  "  Uncle  Abner  re- 
marked, in  as  angry  a  tone  as  he  ever  used ;  his 
hearers  were  in  some  doubt  whether  the  epithet  was 
bestowed  on  the  man  or  the  panther. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Abner,  you  don't  b'lieve  the  man 
lied  ?  "  Johnny  asked,  opening  his  eyes  as  wide  as 
his  mouth.  There  was  a  fascinating  horror  in  the 
belief  that  there  was  a  panther  so  near,  as  if  the 
old  times,  that  made  his  flesh  creep  when  he  heard 
stories  of  them,  had  come  back,  and  it  made  him 
uncomfortable  to  have  his  faith  shaken. 

"  Lie?  Oh,  no  !  That  Canuck  never  lies,"  Uncle 
Abner  replied,  hardly  reassuringly,  "  never,  when 
he  keeps  his  mouth  shut.  He  would  n't  care  haow 
many  hucklebaries  folks  got,  if  they  bought  'em  o' 
him." 


THE   SHAG   BACK   PANTHER  79 

When  they  had  detailed  all  they  had  heard  of 
the  savage  invader  of  Shag  Back,  their  uncle  gave 
a  little  snort  which  expressed  skepticism,  if  not 
downright  unbelief,  but  said  nothing  till  he  had 
filled  his  water  jug  and  corked  it  with  a  corn-cob 
fresh  from  the  crib. 

"  Maybe,  if  we  finish  gittin'  in  the  oats  to-day, 
I  '11  go  up  to  Shag  Back  with  ye  to-morrow,  an' 
we  '11  see  if  we  can't  git  a  hucklebary,  spite  o'  that 
painter.  The  confaounded  critter  !  "  And  he  strode 
away  with  his  chuckling  jug  to  the  barn,  where 
the  hoofs  of  the  horses  could  be  heard  pounding  the 
floor  with  resounding  thumps  in  warfare  with  the 
flies. 

The  young  folks  were  as  glad  to  have  the  oat  field 
cleared  that  day  as  if  the  crop  had  been  their  own, 
for  it  was  a  great  day  when  Uncle  Abner  would  go 
with  them  fishing,  berrying,  or  nutting,  and  they 
were  sure,  now,  that  a  little  special  pleading  would 
make  his  "  maybe  "  as  good  as  a  promise. 

They  were  not  disappointed.  When  the  sun  rose 
next  morning  out  of  the  coppery  and  leaden  clouds 
which  gave  no  promise  of  the  rain  that  every  one 
but  these  selfish  people  was  wishing  for,  it  was  the 
same  red,  rayless  ball  that  it  had  been  for  weeks, 
and  soon  after  breakfast  Uncle  Abner,  with  exas- 
perating slowness,  made  ready  to  start.  In  a  short 
'time  the  expedition  set  forth. 

Johnny  besought  his  uncle  for  leave  to  take  his 


80  THE   SHAG   BACK   PANTHER 

rifle  and  the  old  hound.  The  dog,  when  he  divined 
his  master's  intention  of  taking  an  outing,  jumped 
about  with  delight,  bellowed  a  sonorous  entreaty 
to  accompany  him,  tugging  at  his  chain  and  corru- 
gating his  sorrowful  brows  with  new  lines  of  grief 
when  he  was  bidden  to  stop  his  noise. 

"  No,  Bub,  your  gun  '11  be  'nough,  'an  Laoud 
ain't  a  painter  dawg.  Shut  up,  Laoud,  't  won't 
be  long  'fore  coonin'  time,  ol'  feller." 

The  hound  sat  down,  shifting  his  weight  from 
one  crooked  leg  to  the  other,  as  he  wistfully  watched 
the  party  out  of  sight,  and  then,  after  a  few  pivot- 
ing turns  of  imaginary  nest-making,  lay  down  with 
a  whining  sigh  of  disappointment. 

In  company  with  one  so  learned  as  their  uncle 
in  the  lives  of  wild  things,  the  way  to  the  moun- 
tain was  not  long,  though  they  often  turned  aside 
to  see  the  deserted  nest  of  a  bird  or  the  bird  itself, 
when  they  heard  an  unfamiliar  note.  Sometimes 
it  was  a  jay,  uttering  of  his  many  cries  one  that 
they  had  never  heard  before.  Sometimes  a  cat-bird 
practicing  some  new  mimicry  in  the  seclusion  of  a 
fence-side  thicket ;  and  once,  when  the  squalls  of 
a  shrike  drew  them  to  a  wide-spreading  thorn-tree, 
their  uncle  showed  them  an  impaled  sparrow  that 
the  little  gray  and  black  butcher  had  hung  in  his 
leaf-roofed  shambles. 

The  veil  of  distance  and  the  droughty  haze  that* 
revealed  the  mountain  only  as  a  velvety  gray-green 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  81 

bound  of  the  horizon,  dissolved  in  an  hour,  and  the 
steeps  arose  just  before  them,  clad  in  the  individual 
tints  of  trees,  each  wearing  such  greenness  as  the 
pitiless  sky  had  left  it. 

Without  coming  in  sight  of  the  Canadian's  house, 
they  entered  the  woods  at  the  open  door  of  the 
Notch,  and,  near  the  brook  that  had  grown  faint 
and  almost  voiceless  in  the  parching  heat,  they  for- 
tified themselves  for  further  journeying  by  draughts 
from  a  famous  cold  spring,  the  scarcely  melted  out- 
flow of  a  far-away  ice-bed,  creeping  from  under  a 
mossy  rock  into  the  light  of  day,  —  a  distillation 
of  the  heart  of  the  mountain  with  a  subtle  flavor  of 
the  hidden  inner  world,  and  so  cold  that  the  scant 
measure  of  a  birch-bark  cupful  made  their  throats 
ache. 

Then  they  went  along  on  a  wood-road,  which 
wound  hither  and  thither  with  such  gradual  turns 
that  the  children  soon  so  completely  lost  all  know- 
ledge of  the  points  of  the  compass  that  the  dim  shad- 
ows of  the  trees  pointed  for  them  to  the  southeast, 
and  the  puffs  of  south  wind  bent  the  hemlock  tips 
away  from  the  north.  But  their  uncle's  fox-hunting 
had  taken  him  so  many  times  to  Shag  Back  that  he 
knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  it,  all  the  favorite 
runways  of  foxes,  and,  as  well,  on  what  ledges 
and  slopes  the  huckleberries  flourished  best,  for  in 
the  first  October  days  of  hunting  they  had  not  yet 
all  fallen  off  with  the  reddening  leaves.  To  such 


82  THE  SHAG  BACK   PANTHER 

a  place  he  led  them,  and  presently  they  were  so 
busy  with  picking  that  the  panther  was  almost 
forgotten. 

It  very  naturally  happened  that  on  the  same 
morning  Theophile  Dudelant  went,  by  a  different 
way,  to  the  same  place ;  for  no  one  knew  better 
than  he  where  the  bushes  were  most  heavily  laden 
with  the  fruit  he  had  set  the  panther  of  his  own 
creation  to  keep  others  from  gathering.  His  con- 
science was  not  quite  benumbed  by  all  the  strokes 
and  smotherings  it  had  received  in  the  forty  years 
(during  which  he  could  scarcely  recall  a  time  when 
it  had  not  had  the  worst  of  his  wrestlings  with  it), 
and  it  gave  him  some  faint  twinges  now  and  then 
as  he  remembered  the  disappointment  of  his  yes- 
terday's visitors,  —  twinges  that  he  allayed  by  a 
promise  uttered  aloud  to  himself. 

"Bah  jinjo!  Ah  will  take  some  nicest  berree  Ah 
can  fin'  to  dat  folkses,  an'  sol'  it  cheap  !  Yas,  sah, 
pooty  cheap  ;  jes'  'nough  for  paid  for  ma  tarn  an' 
troublesome  ;  twelve  cen'  a  quart,  Ah  guess,  an' 
take  ma  paid  in  pork  —  if  he  ain't  ask  too  much  !  " 
And  thus  he  excused  his  invention  of  an  enemy  : 
"  Wai,  dey  was  ma  berree,  ain't  it  ?  Dat  was  ma 
orchard,  ain't  it  ?  Yas,  sah  !  Dey  ain't  let  me  go  in 
dey  orchard  for  happles  w'en  Ah  want  it,  an'  Ah  '11 
ain't  let  dey  go  in  ma  orchard,  if  Ah  can  help  it, 
bah  jinjo  !  An',  sah,  dey  maght  be  pant'er,  prob'ly. 


THE  SHAG  BACK   PANTHER  83 

Dey  was  goode  place  for  it,  an'  dey  don't  wan'  deir 
chillen  all  tore  up  to  piecens  ;  an'  prob'ly  dey  lay 
it  to  me.  Yas,  sah  !  It  was  a  very  good  place  for 
pant'er  raght  here  !  " 

Indeed  it  was  —  here  under  low,  branching  pines 
where  twilight  brooded  throughout  the  sunniest 
day  over  the  dim,  noiseless  mat  of  fallen  needles, 
so  like  a  panther  in  color  that  one  might  crouch 
upon  it  unseen  ten  paces  away  ;  so  soft  that  even 
a  careless  footfall  would  be  unheard  at  half  the 
distance.  It  was  such  a  likely  place  for  a  panther 
to  lurk  in,  that  he  shivered,  in  spite  of  the  heat 
which  penetrated  even  these  shades,  when  he  heard 
approaching  footsteps  and  the  swish  of  saplings 
and  branches  recovering  their  places,  and  stood 
aghast  till  he  saw  a  straw  hat  (of  his  wife's  manu- 
facture) ;  and  then  a  neighbor's  face  appeared 
above  the  undergrowth  that  choked  the  path. 

"  Hello,  Duffy !  "  cried  a  reassuring  voice,  in  a 
tone  expressing  as  much  disappointment  as  sur- 
prise, "  I  thought  you  was  my  yearlin's  when  I 
heard  ye.  Hain't  seen  'em,  hev  ye?  I  been  rum- 
magin'  the  hull  maountain  arter  'em,  an'  can't 
find  hide  ner  hair  on  'em.  Guess  suthin'  's  eat  'ern 
up  —  a  painter,  er  suthin'.  Mebby  a  tew-legged 
painter !  But  ye  know  there  was  a  reg'lar  painter 
scairt  a  gal  onct  aouten  her  seben  senses,  right 
clus  to  where  we  be,  not  sech  a  turrible  while  ago. 
Oh,  thirty,  forty  year,  mebby.  Yes,"  stooping  to 


84  THE   SHAG   BACK   PANTHER 

look  beneath  the  low  boughs  toward  a  spring  that 
bubbled  up  in  the  shade  of  the  pines,  at  the  edge 
of  an  old  clearing,  "  right  there,  at  the  spring,  she 
was  a-bleaching  a  web  o'  cloth.  Guess  he 's  come 
back  an'  got  my  young  cattle,  for  I  can't  find  'em. 
Goin'  baryin',  be  ye  ?  Wai,  I  've  seen  sights  on  'em 
this  mornin'.  If  you  see  them  yearlin's,  —  a  brin- 
dle  steer  an'  tew  red  heifers,  —  you  let  me  know, 
Duffy." 

The  cattle  hunter  lightly  dismissed  the  subject 
of  panthers  and  went  his  way,  but  it  had  made  its 
impression  on  The'ophile. 

There  had  once  been  a  panther  here,  and  why 
might  there  not  be  one  now  ?  The  possibility  so 
constantly  presented  itself,  that  he  could  think  of 
nothing  else  when  he  had  come  to  his  berry  patch, 
and  he  listened  long,  and  carefully  scanned  the 
bordering  thickets  before  he  began  picking. 

Years  ago  the  scant  growth  of  wood  had  been 
cut  from  an  acre  or  two  of  this  eastering  slope,  and 
the  thin  soil  nourished  now  only  a  knee-deep  thicket 
of  huckleberry  bushes  and  sweet-ferns.  The  woods 
sloped  to  it  on  the  upper  side,  a  dense  growth  of 
low  pines  pierced  with  tremulous  spires  of  young 
poplars  and  slender  trunks  of  sapling  birches  traced 
in  thin,  broken  lines  of  white  against  the  dark  ever- 
greens. A  deep,  narrow  hollow  ran  along  its  lower 
easterly  edge,  always  dark  with  the  shade  of  pines 
and  balsam  firs,  a  little  colony  of  which  had  estab- 


THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  85 

lished  itself  here,  far  from  the  home  of  the  parent 
stock.  Down  this  hollow  the  scant  outflow  of  a 
spring  trickled  almost  noiselessly  among  liverwort 
and  moss,  from  tiny  pool  to  pool  where  ripples 
quivered  with  the  blazing  reflections  of  cardinal- 
flowers,  like  inverted  lambent  flames. 

Theophile  had  seen  it  a  hundred  times,  but  it 
had  never  before  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  just 
the  lurking  place  a  panther  might  choose,  —  where 
he  might  lie  in  wait  for  prey,  or  rest  unseen  and 
undisturbed  and  quench  the  thirst  begotten  by  his 
horrible  feasts.  The  intermittent  dribble  of  the 
rill  sounded  terribly  like  the  slow  lapping  of  a  great 
cat ;  what  seemed  but  the  stir  of  a  leaf  might  be 
a  footfall  of  his  stealthy  approach :  the  accidental 
snapping  of  a  dry  twig,  perhaps,  by  a  squirrel ;  a 
rustle  of  last  year's  leaves,  made  by  a  covey  of 
partridges ;  the  sudden  shiver  of  a  sapling,  struck, 
perhaps,  by  a  falling,  rotted  limb,  might  all  be 
signs  of  his  presence  as  he  crept  near,  with  cruel, 
eager  eyes,  measuring  the  certain  distance  of  a 
deadly  spring.  The  songs  of  the  birds  were  hushed, 
as  if  the  singers  were  awed  to  silence  by  some  bale- 
ful presence.  No  bird  voice  was  heard  but  the  dis- 
cordant squalling  of  a  jay,  raised  in  alarmed  and 
angry  outcry  against  some  intruder,  —  a  fox  or  an 
owl,  perhaps,  —  but  there  were  possibilities  that  his 
sharp  eyes  had  discovered  something  far  more  dread- 
ful than  these,  prowling  in  the  black  shadows.  The 


86  THE  SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

shifting  sunlight  and  shadow  on  a  withered  pine- 
bush  gave  it  the  semblance  of  a  living,  moving  object 
too  large  and  tawny  to  be  a  fox,  and  The'ophile 
held  his  breath  and  listened  to  the  beating  of  his 
heart,  till  a  long  look  had  assured  him  how  harm- 
less a  thing  it  was.  He  tried  to  laugh  at  his  cause- 
less alarm,  but  the  sound  of  his  mirthless  laughter 
was  so  strange  that  it  gave  him  new  affright. 

If  any  eyes  were  upon  him,  they  could  not  but 
note  his  trepidation  when  he  often  withheld  his 
trembling  hands  from  the  drooping  clusters  of 
fruit,  and  bent  a  strained  ear  to  listen  to  a  sigh 
of  the  wind,  the  rustle  of  a  leaf,  the  flutter  of  a  bird, 
or  the  stir  of  some  shy  inhabitant  of  the  woods,  and 
scanned  again  and  again  the  bounds  of  its  myste- 
rious shades,  often  standing  up  to  look  behind  him. 

The  scarcely  broken  silence,  an  awed,  expectant 
hush  of  nature,  the  sense  of  being  there  alone  to 
face  whatever  might  come,  were  so  hard  to  bear  that 
he  promised  himself  he  would  stay  no  longer  than 
to  half  fill  his  pail ;  and  long  before  that  was  done 
he  wished  for  the  company  of  his  worthless  cur, 
and  began  to  invent  a  story  of  sudden  sickness  to 
excuse  an  immediate  retreat. 

The  drip  of  the  tiny  rill  seemed  to  cease  in  a 
moment  of  ominous  silence,  then  a  poplar  shivered 
in  a  sudden  puff  of  hot  wind  that  died  away  in  a 
gasping  sigh  among  the  pines. 

There  was  a  crash  of  twigs  in  the  edge  of  the 


THE   SHAG  BACK  PANTHER  87 

woods,  and  a  frightened  partridge  hurtled  across 
the  clearing,  too  bewildered  to  notice  him  or  turn 
aside  for  him ;  and  then  a  fiendish  yell  rent  the  air, 
—  such  a  terrific  outbreak  of  discordant  sound  that 
for  an  instant  all  power  of  motion  sank  out  of  him, 
while  he  stood  frozen  with  terror  —  but  only  for 
an  instant. 

Then,  with  a  smothered  cry  of  dread,  he  sprang 
away,  instinctively  taking  the  path  he  had  followed 
thither.  His  foot  caught  in  a  root  and  he  fell  head- 
long, dropping  his  pail  and  spilling  his  berries,  but 
still  continuing  his  flight  on  all  fours  till  he  got 
again  upon  his  feet,  and  then  ran  on  and  on  at  such 
speed  as  he  had  never  made  before,  only  halting 
when  the  woods  were  half  a  mile  behind  him  and 
he  dropped  exhausted  on  a  pasture  knoll  and  in 
painful  gasps  recovered  his  spent  breath. 

When  Uncle  Abner  had  sent  a  final  terrific 
screech  tearing  through  the  woods  after  the  flying 
Canadian,  his  part  in  the  play  was  ended.  Before 
the  echoes  of  the  unearthly  cry  had  faded,  in  slow 
pulsations,  out  of  the  hot  air,  he  led  his  little  party 
forth  from  their  hiding-place  to  the  windrow  of 
spilled  berries. 

"  We  '11  leave  him  his  pail,  if  he  ever  dares  to 
come  arter  it ;  but  it  'ould  be  tew  bad  t'  hev  these 
big  ripe  baries  wasted,"  he  said,  as  he  and  the 
children  scooped  them  by  handfuls  into  their  own 
half-filled  pails. 


88  THE   SHAG  BACK  PANTHER 

Though  it  is  not  reported  that  Shag  Back  was 
ever  again  visited  by  a  panther,  the  dread  of  such 
a  visit  abode  with  Theophile,  till  dew  and  rain  and 
snow  had  rusted  his  pail  out  of  all  use  but  to  ex- 
cite the  curiosity  of  such  as  happened  to  come  upon 
it,  —  when  each  one's  fancy  accounted  in  its  own 
way  for  the  cause  of  its  abandonment. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER 

NEAR  the  southern  border  of  Vermont  a  little 
brook  leaps  and  races  down  the  hills  to  an  intervale, 
through  which  it  creeps  in  devious  windings  to  a 
tributary  of  the  Connecticut.  One  unacquainted 
with  the  industries  of  the  pioneer  settlers  might 
be  puzzled  to  account  for  the  origin  of  its  name, 
Potash  Brook,  which  it  has  borne  since  the  first 
settler  here  gathered  the  ashes  of  the  fallow  burn- 
ings and  turned  them  to  account  in  the  manufacture 
of  a  marketable  commodity. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  passed  since 
Simeon  Draper  made  a  clearing  and  built  a  rude 
potashery  on  the  bank  of  the  brook,  half  a  mile  up 
the  larger  stream  from  his  home.  It  consisted  of  a 
rough  stone  chimney  and  fireplace,  in  which  a  great 
potash  kettle  was  set  sheltered  by  a  bark-roofed  shed 
that  was  inclosed  with  logs  on  three  sides.  Near 
this  and  close  by  the  brook,  for  the  sake  of  the 
necessary  water,  three  leach  tubs,  sawn  from  large 
hollow  elms,  stood  on  a  slanting  platform  of  hewn 
plank  or  puncheons,  from  which  the  lye  dripped 
into  a  great  log  trough,  and  near  by  was  the  im- 
portant ash  bin,  carefuly  roofed. 


90          A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER 

Simeon  Draper  and  his  son,  Stephen,  a  lad  of 
thirteen,  tended  the  works  by  day,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, when  there  was  less  of  the  always  imminent 
danger  of  murder  or  capture  by  prowling  bands  of 
Canadian  Indians.  One  or  the  other  dreadful  fate 
was  predicted  by  the  less  venturesome  settlers  who 
lived  farther  down  the  valley  nearer  the  shelter  of 
the  fortified  blockhouse ;  but  Simeon,  brave  to  the 
verge  of  foolhardiness,  and  impelled  by  the  hope 
of  a  bountiful  reward,  declared  that  he  would  not 
abandon  the  enterprise  until  obliged  to  do  so  by 
something  more  than  fear  of  danger. 

One  forenoon  early  in  May,  after  a  busy  night, 
Simeon  stood  regarding  the  boiling  kettle  with 
critical  satisfaction  for  a  moment  before  speaking 
to  his  son. 

"  Now,  Stevy,  I  '11  go  to  the  house  an'  fetch  some 
dinner  an*  supper,  an'  fill  the  vinegar  bottle  that 's 
e'enamost  empty.  We'll  need  it  bad  if  we  get  a 
speck  o'  potash  or  a  drop  o'  lye  spattered  in  our  eyes. 
You  keep  the  kittle  a-wollopin',  for  we  want  to 
4  salts  down '  afore  dark,  so 's  not  to  have  to  stay 
here  over  night,  only  don't  let  it  bile  over.  You 
need  n't  put  no  more  water  on  the  leaches,  for  the  lye 
is  gittin'  so  weak  it  won't  sca'cely  bear  an  egg  now ; 
you  won't  have  nothin'  to  do  but  keep  the  fire  goin' 
an'  the  kittle  from  b'ilin'  over,  an',  of  course,  keep 
an  eye  out  for  Injuns.  I  don't  b'lieve  there 's  one 
in  fifty  mile,  but  if  you  see  any  sign,  clipper  for 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD   FRONTIER         91 

home.  I  '11  leave  the  gun  wi'  you  an'  '11  be  back  to 
rights,"  and  taking  the  empty  vinegar  bottle,  he 
set  forth  at  a  brisk  pace  along  the  footpath. 

Stephen  fed  another  stick  of  wood  to  the  roaring 
fire  and  then  went  to  the  back  of  the  shanty,  where 
the  long-barreled  smoothbore  leaned  in  a  corner, 
from  which  he  lifted  it  and  fondled  it  with  more 
than  mere  boyish  admiration  of  a  firearm,  for  now 
it  was  his  sole  companion  and  faithful  protector. 
He  rested  it  across  the  projecting  end  of  a  log  of 
the  side  wall,  and  took  a  long  aim  at  an  imaginary 
Indian  in  the  form  of  a  stump  on  the  rocky  hillside 
beyond  the  leach  tubs,  then  drew  a  finer  bead  on  a 
moose  flower  that  shone  in  bright  relief  against 
a  black  shadow,  and  wished  that  he  might  prove 
his  marksmanship  by  actual  test.  But  such  a  waste 
of  precious  ammunition  was  not  to  be  thought  of, 
even  if  the  report  would  not  be  certain  to  bring 
his  father  hurrying  back  in  needless  alarm.  As  a 
bear  would  not  shamble  forth  nor  a  wolf  sneak  into 
the  open  from  the  woodside  where  a  company  of 
jays  were  berating  some  object  of  their  dislike,  he 
contented  himself  with  opening  the  pan  and  ex- 
amining the  priming  and  adding  a  few  grains  of 
powder  from  the  engraved  powder  horn  given  his 
father  in  Connecticut. 

A  premonitory  slop  of  lye  on  the  hot  embers 
hastily  summoned  him  to  his  duty.  He  partially 
quelled  the  riotous  liquid  by  vigorous  dipping  and 


92          A  STORY   OF  THE   OLD   FRONTIER 

pouring  with  the  long-handled  dipper.  He  paused 
in  his  work  to  listen  to  an  unfamiliar  bird  song  that 
caught  his  ear  above  the  crackling  roar  of  the  fire 
and  the  muffled  wolloping  of  the  kettle  and  the 
churning  of  the  little  waterfall  in  its  hollow  basin. 
It  was  a  merrier  sound  even  than  the  babble  of  the 
brook  or  the  musical  tinkle  of  the  lye  in  the  great 
trough,  for  it  was  the  song  of  the  first  bobolink 
that  had  discovered  the  new  clearing,  rejoicing 
over  its  desolation  of  blackened  stumps  and  withered 
fire  weed  wherein,  perhaps,  it  saw  the  greenness 
and  bloom  of  future  summer  meadows.  Three  years 
had  passed  since  the  young  pioneer  heard  a  bobo- 
link singing  its  blythe  chorus  in  the  sunny  fields 
of  old  Connecticut,  and  it  brought  an  ache  of 
yearning  for  the  pleasanter  and  easier  life  in  the 
older  settlement.  Yet  it  was  a  signal  of  conquest 
well  begun,  and  a  promise  of  victory  over  savage 
nature.  The  boy's  abstracted  gaze  rested  on  the 
scathed  clearing,  the  brook,  robbed  of  all  its  beauty 
and  choked  with  brush,  the  greening  border  of  the 
forest,  —  seeing  instead  of  these  a  vision  of  smooth 
meadows  and  pastures  and  a  clear  stream  winding 
between  green  banks.  The  turmoil  of  the  boiling  lye 
recalled  him  to  his  duty,  and  he  began  dipping  and 
pouring  again,  too  intent  upon  his  work  to  look 
behind  him  for  the  cause  of  a  nearer  outbreak  of 
clamor  from  the  jays.  A  moment  later  a  smart  tap 
on  the  shoulder  made  him  turn  his  head  with  a 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER          93 

sudden  start,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  sinking 
horror  when  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of 
two  stalwart  Indians.  The  face  of  the  nearest  wore 
an  almost  good-natured  expression  as  he  regarded 
Stephen's  consternation  and  complete  helplessness. 
The  other  was  a  wicked-looking  savage,  whose  beady 
little  eyes  glittered  with  a  snaky,  murderous  light, 
and  he  fingered  his  tomahawk  in  his  belt  as  if  he 
could  hardly  restrain  the  desire  to  use  it. 

"  Boy  no  good  watchum  camp,"  said  the  first, 
broadening  his  grin.  "  Injun  ketch  now.  Boy  walk 
in  woods  'long  me.  Me  makum  good  Injun." 

As  he  spoke  he  handled  a  thong  of  moose  hide, 
the  use  of  which  Stephen  understood,  and  to  "  walk 
the  woods  "he  knew  meant  to  be  taken  through  the 
wilderness  to  Canada.  Both  Indians  cast  furtive 
glances  upon  the  boiling  lye  with  a  curiosity  their 
stoicism  could  not  conceal,  until  abandoning  the 
attempt  the  spokesman  asked,  pointing  to  the 
kettle: 

"  What  call  um  ?   Pastoniac  make  urn  lum  ?  " 

Impelled  by  an  impulse  of  self-preservation,  the 
consequences  of  which  he  did  not  pause  to  consider, 
Stephen  answered  : 

"  Yes,  yes  !  Want  to  drink  some  ?  "  and  raised 
the  half-filled  dipper  with  a  gesture  of  invitation. 

Both  stooped  toward  the  proffered  draught,  each 
blowing  at  the  steam  and  shrinking  a  little  from 
immediate  contact  with  the  hot  vessel.  A  means  of 


94         A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER 

escape  flashed  through  the  boy's  mind  which  he  put 
in  execution  as  soon  as  conceived.  Withdrawing 
the  dipper  a  little,  he  flung  the  contents  full  in  the 
faces  of  the  Indians,  then  leaping  out  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  shed,  he  sprang  away  at  full  speed  for 
home. 

The  Indian  on  the  farther  side  received  the  larger 
share  of  the  scalding  caustic  fairly  in  the  face,  and 
was  completely  blinded  by  it,  while  the  other  was 
struck  upon  one  side  and  made  immediate  use  of 
his  uninjured  eye  to  take  a  flying  shot  at  Stephen. 
Half  blinded,  wholly  surprised  and  tortured  with 
excruciating  pain,  his  aim  was  wild,  and  the  ball 
went  whistling  high  over  Stephen's  head.  His 
companion,  bewildered  by  the  sudden  blindness  and 
suffering  torture  as  exquisite  as  any  his  people  had 
ever  inflicted  on  their  captives,  groped  away  from 
the  noise  of  the  fire  and  seething  kettle  till  the 
sound  of  the  running  brook  caught  his  ear,  when 
he  staggered  toward  it  and  plunged  into  the  water. 

Simeon  Draper,  alarmed  by  the  report  of  the  gun, 
was  hurrying  back  with  provisions,  the  refilled  vin- 
egar bottle,  and  the  spare  gun  from  the  house,  when 
he  was  met  by  his  son,  who  with  few  words  told  of 
his  adventure.  Stealthily  approaching  the  camp  by 
a  circuitous  route,  they  discovered  the  Indians  still 
at  the  brook  and  so  engaged  in  bathing  their  injured 
faces  and  with  but  one  eye  between  them  to  apprise 
them  of  danger,  that  they  were  easily  captured. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD   FRONTIER         95 

There  was  small  chance  of  escape  when  one  half- 
blind  man  had  to  lead  another  totally  blind,  and 
they  submitted  stoically  to  their  fate,  whatever  it 
might  be. 

"  Red  water  burn  plenty  bad,"  said  the  spokes- 
man. "  Water  no  put  um  out." 

Draper  gave  him  the  vinegar  and  directed  him 
to  bathe  his  own  and  his  comrade's  eyes  with  it, 
which,  though  it  smarted  terribly  for  a  time,  stopped 
the  biting  of  the  caustic  and  gave  grateful  relief. 

Then  Stephen,  with  the  long  smoothbore,  stood 
guard  over  the  captives  while  his  father  completed 
the  boiling  down  of  the  lye  to  "  black  salts."  This 
was  set  to  cool  and  harden  in  a  smaller  kettle. 
Then  as  the  sun  was  going  down,  with  their  pris- 
oners before  them,  they  marched  home,  hungry  as 
wolves,  for  the  pork  and  cornbread  had  been  fairly 
divided  with  the  Indians,  whose  appetite  seemed 
unimpaired  by  their  misfortunes. 

Great  was  the  surprise  and  thankfulness  of 
Patience  Draper  when  she  saw  her  husband  and 
son  returning,  safe  and  unharmed,  although  accom- 
panied by  the  two  savages ;  for  she  had  heard  the 
gun,  and  had  passed  two  hours  of  such  agonizing 
dread  as  frontier  life  often  brought  to  womankind. 
The  deliverance  gained  by  her  son's  bold  stroke 
aroused  her  devout  thankfulness,  yet  her  womanly 
heart  pitied  the  suffering  plight  of  the  stolid  cap- 
tives, and  she  dressed  their  wounds  as  carefully  as 


96         A  STORY   OF  THE   OLD   FRONTIER 

if  these  men  were  friends  and  not  the  relentless 
foes  of  her  people. 

The  news  of  Stephen's  exploit  soon  spread  among 
the  scattered  settlers,  and  they  came  to  seek  con- 
firmation of  the  story  by  sight  of  the  captives,  with 
their  heads  bandaged  by  good  Mistress  Draper, 
whose  kindness  met  slight  approval  from  most  of 
the  visitors. 

"  If  I  'd  ha'  ketched  'em,  I  'd  jest  ha'  knocked 
'em  in  the  head  wi'  my  axe  or  beetle,"  declared 
old  Ephraim  Long,  who  had  been  a  scalp  hunter 
and  had  borne  a  part  in  Lovewell's  famous  fight. 
"  Sarve  Injuns  that  sass  an'  they  won't  never  pester 
nob'dy  ag'in." 

The  opinion  of  the  majority  of  the  settlers  coin- 
cided with  that  of  "  ol'  man  Long,"  yet  Patience 
Draper  continued  her  benevolent  work,  and  the 
condition  of  the  captives  improved  so  rapidly  that 
the  neighbors  predicted  they  would  soon  be  able 
to  murder  their  benefactors  and  then  make  their  es- 
cape, and  all  increased  their  vigilance  and  strength- 
ened their  means  of  protection.  The  silent  Indian 
indeed  seemed  vicious  enough  to  fulfill  the  prophecy 
if  he  had  the  power,  but  the  other  made  simple  and 
apparently  sincere  expressions  of  gratitude. 

"You  good  squaw.  Me  Cap'n  Joe,"  he  said, 
standing  erect  and  pounding  the  breast  of  his 
blanket  coat  with  his  fist.  "  Me  fight,  plenty.  Me 
ketch  Pastoniac,  plenty.  Make  um  walk  woods. 


A  STORY  OF  THE   OLD  FRONTIER          97 

Me  big  man,  Dodosun,"  pointing  to  his  comrade, 
"him  good  sojer;  fight  Pastoniac,  ketch  plenty. 
Him  big  man,  bose  big  men.  Lee'l  Pastoniac  boy, 
half  so  big,  ketch  urn  bose  of  it.  Ugh !  Dat 
shame,  plenty,"  and  he  laughed  as  if  he  relished 
the  joke,  but  the  unbandaged  lower  half  of  Dodo- 
sun's  face  looked  savagely  sullen. 

Simeon  Draper  had  no  fear  of  his  captives' 
attempting  to  escape  in  their  present  condition,  and 
maintained  a  loose  guard  over  them.  So  it  hap- 
pened later  on,  that  he  awoke  one  morning  to  find 
them  gone,  so  long  departed  that  they  must  be  far 
beyond  the  verge  of  the  forest,  in  which  it  would  be 
as  useless  to  search  for  them  as  for  a  mouse  in  a 
straw  stack.  Except -for  their  value  as  exchanges 
for  English  captives,  and  that  they  had  carried 
away  one  of  the  guns,  he  was  not  sorry  to  be  rid  of 
them. 

The  prediction  of  the  older  settlers  was  verified 
in  part  and  its  completion  still  expected,  yet  for 
two  years  the  frontier  remained  undisturbed,  except 
by  rumors  of  threatened  attack.  But  one  midsum- 
mer day  when  the  men  folks  were  all  at  work  in 
the  meadows,  in  such  fancied  security  that  but  few 
had  carried  their  guns  with  them,  a  strong  band  of 
Waubanakees  suddenly  swooped  down  upon  the 
place,  killed  and  scalped  one  man,  wounded  and 
captured  another,  and  carried  off  three  women  and 
five  children,  among  whom  were  Patience  Draper 


98          A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD   FRONTIER 

and  her  youngest  child,  a  little  girl  not  two  years 
old.  No  attack  was  made  on  the  blockhouse,  where 
the  families  at  once  took  shelter,  and  from  which 
all  but  a  small  guard  of  able-bodied  men  set  forth 
in  pursuit  of  the  marauders,  under  the  lead  of  Ser- 
geant Ephraim  Long.  After  a  sharp  pursuit  twenty 
miles  up  the  river,  the  Indians  were  about  to  be 
overtaken  when  they  sent  back  one  of  the  captured 
children  with  the  threat  that  if  they  were  attacked 
they  would  at  once  put  all  the  captives  to  death. 
Some  of  the  rescue  party  were  for  giving  no  heed 
to  this,  but  a  majority,  among  whom  were  those 
whose  wives  and  children  were  in  jeopardy,  were 
unwilling  to  risk  its  execution,  and  it  was  decided 
to  abandon  the  chase. 

The  Indians  continued  their  route  by  what  was 
known  as  the  "  Indian  road  "  up  the  West  or  Wan- 
tastequet  River,  then  across  the  "  height  of  land  " 
to  Otter  Creek,  where  their  canoes  had  been  secreted. 
In  these  they  now  embarked  with  their  plunder  and 
captives,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  latter,  who  had 
been  hurried  over  the  rough  trail  in  constant  fear 
that  some  of  the  little  children  would  give  out  and 
be  murdered  by  the  savages,  according  to  their 
well-known  custom.  No  one  of  the  unhappy  com- 
pany suffered  the  horror  of  this  fear  more  keenly 
than  Patience  Draper,  whose  little  girl  was  the 
youngest  of  the  captives,  and  least  able  to  endure 
the  hardships  of  the  journey.  For  many  weary 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER    99 

miles  the  mother  had  carried  the  child,  till  she  was 
in  danger  of  bringing  upon  herself  the  fatal  stroke, 
the  more  dreaded  because  it  would  leave  the  child 
among  the  savages  without  her  care  and  protection. 

Embarked  in  the  canoes,  in  comparative  bodily 
comfort,  the  party  glided  steadily  down  the  river, 
winding  through  the  ancient  forest  past  shores  that 
showed  no  trace  of  former  human  presence  save  in 
the  worn  trail  of  carrying  places,  past  rock-torn 
rapids  and  thunderous  cataracts.  Passing  the  last 
and  greatest  of  these,  at  what  is  now  Vergennes, 
they  glided  for  miles  down  a  wide,  deep  channel  so 
devious  that  it  well  deserves  the  name  Peconktuk, 
"  Crooked  River,"  by  which  it  was  known  to  the 
Waubanakees  as  well  as  by  the  name  of  Wona- 
kahketuk,  "  Otter  River."  At  length  they  came  to 
the  broad  expanse  of  Petowbowk,  the  beautiful 
lake  of  Champlain.  Here  they  landed  on  a  low 
promontory  sloping  gently  to  the  river  from  the 
rock-walled  lake  ward  shore.  In  front  the  ragged 
steeps  of  a  mountain  arose  from  the  water's  edge. 
Far  to  the  northward,  beyond  jutting  capes  of  rock 
and  forest,  lake  and  sky  met  where  dim  islands  lay 
like  clouds  stranded  between  them.  To  the  south- 
ward the  blue  waters  seemed  compassed  by  low 
shores  and  sheer  walls  of  mountain.  In  all  the 
extended  scene  there  was  no  sign  of  human  life  but 
in  the  brief  encampment  of  the  marauders. 

The  next  morning  the  Indians  held  an  unintel- 


100        A  STORY  OF  THE   OLD  FRONTIER 

ligible  consultation,  which  resulted  in  their  em- 
barkation for  the  southward.  Coasting  along  the 
eastern  shore,  after  two  hours  of  continuous  pad- 
dling, they  saw  before  them  the  emblazoned  lilies 
of  France  floating  over  the  citadel  of  Fort  St. 
Frederick,  and  half  an  hour  later  they  landed  on 
the  beach  near  the  western  walls  of  the  fortress. 

Here  a  motley  company  of  French  soldiers,  In- 
dians of  both  sexes  and  all  ages,  and  a  similar 
throng  of  Canadians  from  the  adjacent  village, 
were  gathered  to  receive  the  comers  with  various 
expressions  of  satisfaction.  The  Frenchmen  tem- 
pered theirs  with  pity  for  the  unfortunate  captives, 
the  Canadians  vociferously  jabbered  inquiries  and 
comments,  the  Indians  uttered  yells  of  triumph, 
and  the  squaws  crowded  about  the  prisoners,  taunt- 
ing and  mocking  them,  and  were  only  withheld 
from  actual  violence  by  the  interposition  of  a 
French  officer. 

Patience  noticed  one  Indian  attentively  regard- 
ing her,  with  the  only  eye  that  he  possessed,  by 
which  and  by  his  scarred  face  she  presently  recog- 
nized her  old  acquaintance,  Captain  Joe.  She 
started  and  would  have  spoken,  but  with  unmoved 
countenance  he  turned  his  back  upon  her  and 
stalked  away  with  his  squaw  following  three  paces 
behind  him. 

"  An  Indian's  gratitude !  "  she  sighed,  and  then 
grew  sick  with  fear  that  vengeance  might  be  wreaked 


A  STORY   OF  THE   OLD  FRONTIER         101 

on  her  and  her  little  daughter  for  the  cruel  way 
her  son  had  defended  himself  against  Captain 
Joe  and  Dodosun.  With  this  dread  added  to  her 
dismal  forebodings  of  a  long  and  miserable  cap- 
tivity, she  was  led  away  with  her  fellow  prisoners 
to  the  fort,  where  by  direction  of  the  officer  they 
were  placed  in  a  comfortable  though  dungeon-like 
apartment,  and  supplied  with  abundant  food.  Here 
they  were  left  to  themselves,  except  when  some 
inquisitive  visitor  came  to  stare  at  them.  Once  a 
black-robed  priest,  with  a  crafty,  smooth-shaven 
face,  stole  in,  cat-like,  and  closely  scanned  each 
face,  dwelling  with  open  admiration  upon  the 
pretty  features  of  little  Nancy  Draper. 

"  She  is  a  child  of  great  beauty,"  he  said  in 
English.  "  We  will  place  her  in  the  convent  and 
the  good  sisters  shall  make  her  to  be  a  Christian." 

Patience  drew  the  child  closer,  as  if  to  shield 
her  from  a  fate  so  abhorrent  to  her  own  belief,  and 
the  priest  passed  on. 

At  night,  a  small  lamp  hanging  on  the  wall  was 
lighted  and  the  captives  laid  themselves  down  on  a 
litter  of  straw  on  the  stone  floor,  the  most  com- 
fortable beds  they  had  enjoyed  since  their  cap- 
tivity, and  soon  all  were  asleep,  save  Patience, 
whose  anxieties  were  too  great  for  repose.  Some 
time  had  elapsed  when  she  saw  an  Indian  cau- 
tiously and  noiselessly  enter  the  door,  followed  by 
a  squaw  and  pappoose,  both  closely  wrapped  in  a 


102        A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER 

blanket.  To  her  surprise  and  alarm  they  came 
directly  to  her,  and  the  man  said  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"  Come  'long  me.  Me  take  you.  Diaper.  You 
know  me.  Cap'n  Joe.  Me  no  forgit  flien'.  Put 
um  squaw  blanket  on.  Covel  up  leeT  gal.  Come." 

The  squaw  threw  off  her  blanket,  and  Patience 
saw  that  what  she  supposed  was  a  pappoose  con- 
cealed beneath  it  was  only  a  make-believe  bundle. 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  arose  and  took  her 
sleeping  child  in  her  arms,  when  the  blanket  was 
thrown  over  both,  covering  her  head  so  as  to  con- 
ceal her  color  and  features  from  casual  observa- 
tion. As  Patience  followed  the  Indian  she  saw 
that  already  the  squaw  was  quietly  stretched  in 
her  own  place  on  the  floor. 

They  passed  a  French  soldier  who  stood  on 
guard  outside  the  door,  but  he  barely  noticed  their 
exit,  so  freely  were  the  Indians  permitted  to  come 
and  go.  Her  guide  led  on  through  several  rooms  and 
passages  to  a  stone  staircase,  descending  to  a  heavy, 
oaken  door,  where  a  white-coated  soldier  stood  under 
arms  with  a  lantern  at  his  feet.  At  a  word  from 
the  Indian  he  unbarred  and  opened  the  great  door, 
holding  the  lantern  to  light  the  way  down  another 
short  flight  of  stone  steps  to  the  water  gate  of  the 
fortress,  where  the  glitter  of  wavelets  shone  at  their 
feet.  A  canoe  was  lying  there,  and  at  a  motion  of 
her  companion  Patience  stepped  into  it,  when  he 
drew  the  stern  toward  him  and  got  on  board. 


A  STORY  OF  THE   OLD  FRONTIER        103 

"My  brother  and  sister  go  forth  late,"  the  sol- 
dier said,  speaking  in  French,  as  he  stood  holding 
the  lantern  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  To  spy  the  Pastoniac,  squaw  sell  um  baskets," 
the  Indian  answered  laconically. 

"  Oh,  I  comprehend,"  the  soldier  laughed  softly. 
"  My  brother  is  a  fox.  Good  voyage." 

The  Indian  turned  the  canoe  and  paddled 
straight  away  till  the  clang  of  the  closing  door 
was  heard  and  the  light  of  the  lantern  no  longer 
shone  out  on  the  lake.  Then  changing  his  course 
to  the  southward  and  tending  toward  the  eastern 
shore,  he  paddled  swiftly  and  silently  until  the  for- 
tified windmill  south  of  the  fort  loomed  darkly 
against  the  sky  behind  them. 

"  Pastoniac  squaw  no  'flaid  ?  " 

"  No,  Cap'n  Joe,  not  of  you." 

"All  safe  w'en  we  by  Carillon,  s'pose  we  no 
meet  Iliquois.  No  hunt  um  white  squaw.  Kill  um 
Waubanakee.  My  folks  plenty  mad  w'en  fin'  um 
squaw  gone  —  pappoose  gone.  No  kill  um,  Cap'n 
Joe.  Cap'n  Joe  good  sojer.  Dey  t'ink  we  go  oder 
way.  Me  only  'flaid  Iliquois." 

At  last  they  saw  before  them  the  lights  glancing 
from  the  embrasures  of  Fort  Carillon.  Enjoining 
perfect  silence,  Captain  Joe  kept  the  canoe  still 
closer  within  the  shadow  of  the  uneven  shore,  till 
the  fortress  lights  shone  like  stars  far  behind  them, 
and  the  musical  monotone  of  the  neighboring  cas- 


104        A  STORY  OF  THE   OLD   FRONTIER 

cade  fell  to  a  distant  murmur.  At  length  they 
entered  a  river-like  channel,  seemingly  wide  in  the 
illusion  of  dim  starlight,  yet  was  but  a  slender 
waterway  between  rushy  borders.  Into  one  of  these 
masses  of  rank  growth,  the  Indian  suddenly  drove 
the  canoe  by  one  vigorous  stroke  of  his  paddle, 
whispering : 

"  Stoop  low  !   Canoe  comin'." 

Wondering  by  what  sense  he  had  discovered  its 
approach,  Patience  peering  through  the  palings  of 
rushes  saw  it  glide  past  like  some  ghostly  craft,  so 
noiselessly  was  it  propelled  by  four  dusky  figures, 
from  one  and  another  of  whom  an  occasional  low- 
spoken  word  fell  in  a  harsher  tongue  than  the  liquid 
dialect  of  the  Waubanakee.  When  the  wake  of 
the  canoe  no  longer  stirred  the  water  growth  beside 
him,  Captain  Joe  whispered  : 

"  Iliquois  go  scout  'loun'  Carillon.  No  git  um 
Cap'n  Joe  scalp  dis  time."  Then  backing  the 
light  craft  into  the  channel,  he  resumed  the  voyage. 

As  the  eastern  stars  began  to  pale  in  the  light 
of  morning,  he  turned  into  a  channel  whose  devious 
course,  covered  with  lily  pads,  barely  gave  passage 
to  the  canoe.  Now  a  heron  launched  itself  awk- 
wardly into  the  air  within  the  canoe's  length  of  the 
prow,  now  a  flock  of  summer  ducks  sprang  to  swifter 
and  noisier  flight  before  it,  and  now  a  deer,  disturbed 
at  its  early  feast  of  lily  pads,  splashed  and  floun- 
dered through  water  and  mire  to  the  shelter  of  the 


A  STORY  OF  THE   OLD   FRONTIER        105 

forest,  uttering  loud  whistles  of  alarm,  till  at  a  place 
where  water  and  shore  met,  the  voyage  at  length 
ended. 

The  canoe  was  carefully  secreted,  and  after  a 
couple  of  hours  of  sleep  and  a  breakfast  provided 
from  the  Indian's  pack,  the  party  began  a  weary 
journey  through  the  forest,  wearisome  even  to  the 
hardened  muscles  of  the  Indian,  for  much  of  the 
way  he  carried  little  Nancy  upon  his  shoulder. 
Without  other  adventure  than  the  hardship  incident 
to  such  travel,  they  carne  to  the  upper  waters  of 
the  Otter,  and  in  a  hidden  canoe  made  an  easier 
stage  of  their  journey.  After  another  long  march 
on  the  trail  of  the  "  Indian  road,"  toward  the  close 
of  an  August  day  the  light  of  a  clearing  broke 
through  the  twilight  of  the  forest  before  them, 
where,  with  inexpressible  joy  and  thankfulness, 
Patience  Draper  saw  the  smoke  of  her  own  chimney 
drifting  up  toward  the  evening  sky,  and  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  stump-blackened  meadow  saw  her 
husband  at  work,  and  on  the  rude  ox  cart  with  its 
lading  of  new  hay  a  lesser  figure  she  doubted  not 
was  her  son. 

"  Way  good,  now,"  said  her  faithful  guide.  "  Me 
no  go  f urder.  He  see  me,  oP  Long  shoot  me,  mebby. 
Goo''-by." 

"  No,  no,  go  with  me  !  Come  home  an'  eat  an' 
sleep  an'  rest.  No  one  shall  hurt  you.  I  '11  tell 
them  all  how  good  you  are.  Come  on." 


106       A  STORY  OF  THE  OLD   FRONTIER 

With  some  hesitation  he  made  as  if  to  follow, 
and  she  hurried  forward,  leading  her  child.  Speak- 
ing and  getting  no  answer,  she  looked  back,  but 
caught  only  a  glimpse  of  Captain  Joe  as  he  van- 
ished in  the  shadowy  verge  of  the  forest,  and  so 
passed  forever  from  her  sight  and  ken,  but  never 
from  her  grateful  remembrance. 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

BEFOKE  the  name  of  Yergennes  had  been  trans- 
planted from  France  to  the  northern  wilds  of 
America,  the  place  where  Vermont's  oldest  city  now 
stands  was  only  known  by  the  name  of  its  most 
distinctive  natural  feature,  —  to  English  speaking 
white  men  as  the  First  Falls  of  Otter  Creek,  to 
Waubanakee  Indians  as  Netahmepuntuk  or  Netah- 
mekaneek,  the  First  Falls  or  Carrying  Place. 

To  these  last  it  was  a  manifestation  of  the  power 
of  the  Great  Spirit  who  had  set  this  impassable 
wall  of  water  to  bar  the  way  of  canoes  in  summer, 
the  easy  path  of  snowshoe  and  toboggan  in  winter. 
To  the  first  white  soldiers  and  hunters  who  saw  it, 
it  was  doubtless  most  notable  as  a  vexatious  ob- 
struction of  navigation.  Yet  one  soldier  who  saw 
it  recognized  its  great  possibilities.  This  warrior 
was  a  canny  Scot,  with  an  eye  to  something  more 
substantial  than  military  glory,  and  he  hastened  to 
secure  this  and  other  water  power  on  the  river,  by 
obtaining  from  the  governor  of  New  York  a  grant 
of  Great  Otter  Creek  from  its  mouth  to  the  Grand 
Falls,  later  known  as  Sutherland  Falls,  and  of  a 
tract  of  land  extending  the  same  distance  along  its 
course,  three  miles  in  width. 


108  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

To  hold  this  claim,  which  was  disputed  by  some 
to  whom  the  same  lands  had  been  granted  by  the 
governor  of  New  Hampshire,  he  had  established 
a  doughty  countryman  of  his,  named  Donald  Mc- 
Intosh,  and  had  begun  the  building  of  a  sawmill. 
Donald  was  a  soldier  who  had  taken  part  in  Cullo- 
den's  bloody  fight  —  whether  under  king  or  Pre- 
tender tradition  saith  not,  though  his  name  would 
place  him  among  the  adherents  of  the  latter,  and 
he  had  seen  rough  service  in  America.  Therefore 
he  was  quite  at  home  now  in  the  blockhouse  that 
stood  on  a  hill  not  far  below  the  falls,  and  was  his 
fort  and  dwelling.  Its  thick  walls  of  hewn  logs 
were  pierced  with  loopholes  for  musketry,  and  the 
heavy  door  and  the  shutters  of  the  few  windows 
were  of  oak  thickly  studded  with  nails,  and  looked 
as  if  they  might  withstand  any  assault  of  small 
arms. 

The  cleared  space  that  stretched  only  a  short 
musket-shot  away  on  every  side  between  it  and  the 
woods,  bore  so  few  signs  of  tillage  as  to  have  more 
the  appearance  of  a  military  than  an  agricultural 
purpose,  and  but  for  a  few  good  old-fashioned 
Scotch  flowers  that  Dame  Mclntosh  had  blooming 
in  summer  time  beside  the  doorstep,  there  was 
hardly  an  exterior  indication  of  a  woman's  pre- 
sence. 

One  April  day,  something  more  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  the  blockhouse  was  garrisoned, 


McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES  109 

as  it  had  been  for  months,  only  by  Donald  Mclntosh 
and  his  household,  consisting  of  himself,  his  wife, 
and  their  three  stout  sons;  for  Colonel  Reid's  other 
workmen,  a  dozen  or  more  Scotchmen,  had  gone 
southward  in  the  fall. 

In  the  spring,  when  lake  and  river  were  open, 
they  would  return  in  boats  with  supplies  and  fix- 
tures for  the  mills,  for  it  was  the  colonel's  inten- 
tion to  erect  a  grist-mill  also.  There  were  no  grists 
to  be  ground  yet,  but  he  foresaw  that  there  would 
be,  and  he  meant  to  be  ready  to  toll  them.  The 
skeleton  frame  of  the  sawmill  perched  on  the  brink 
of  the  cataract,  and  the  beginning  of  a  clearing 
near  it,  an  insignificant  breach  in  the  long  line  of 
forest  wall,  were  the  only  signs  that  the  hand 
of  civilized  man  had  begun  to  break  the  savage 
wildness  of  the  place.  A  great  raft  of  driftwood, 
piled  and  interlocked  in  fantastic  and  inextricable 
confusion,  choked  the  western  channel  at  the  head 
of  the  fall.  Ragged  cedars,  whose  trunks  bore  the 
scars  of  a  century's  assault  of  ice  and  flood-wood, 
leaned  out  from  rocky  banks  and  islet  over  the  boil- 
ing, tumbling  rush  of  waters,  the  cadence  of  whose 
mighty  voice,  always  grand  and  solemn,  was  ever 
sinking  and  swelling  with  the  varying  wafts  of 
wind.  Columns  of  mist  arose  from  the  seething 
cauldron  at  the  foot  of  the  falls  and  stalked  slowly 
away  into  the  forest,  vanishing  as  they  swept  along 
like  a  never-ending  procession  of  majestic  spectres. 


110  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

The  long,  tortuous  miles  of  ice  that  stretched  far 
away  through  the  forest  toward  the  Green  Moun- 
tains were  slowly  shortening  where,  just  above  the 
falls,  cake  after  cake  was  breaking  away,  floating 
at  first  with  slow  reluctance,  then  swifter  and 
swifter  till  it  trembled  one  moment  on  the  glassy 
verge,  then  plunged  down  the  torn  and  foaming 
precipice  of  water,  the  crash  of  its  downfall  indis- 
tinguishable in  the  thunderous  roar  of  the  cataract. 

Donald  was  standing  with  his  sons  on  the  hill- 
side, watching  through  narrow  wooded  vistas  the 
wild  turmoil  of  the  flood,  when  he  caught  sight  of 
a  man  just  above  the  falls.  He  was  afloat  on  a 
great  ice  floe  that  was  fast  sweeping  toward  its 
awful  plunge,  running  to  and  fro  upon  it,  vainly 
seeking  some  way  of  escape  from  the  terrible  abyss 
that  yawned  before  him. 

"  For  the  luve  o'  God,  lads  !  "  Donald  shouted  to 
his  sons,  "  see  yon  mon  comin'  to  his  death  !  God 
hae  mercy  on  him  ;  for  nae  warldly  power  can  save 
him !  " 

Just  as  the  foremost  edge  of  the  floe  touched  the 
brink  of  the  falls,  the  unfortunate  man,  who  by  his 
dress  they  took  to  be  an  Indian,  cast  his  gun  and 
pack  upon  it,  and  rushing  to  the  upstream  edge 
leaped  from  it.  He  was  lost  to  their  sight,  and 
not  till  the  floe,  overhanging  the  brink  by  half  its 
length  for  a  moment,  had  plunged  crashing  down 
the  raging  steep,  did  they  catch  another  glimpse  of 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  111 

him.  For  an  instant  they  saw  him  wildly  struggling 
iu  the  first  unbroken  curve  of  the  falling  water,  and 
then  the  dark  object  that  shot  down  the  wall  of 
foaming  water  so  swiftly  that,  when  seen  at  all,  it 
was  but  an  indistinguishable  streak,  might  be  he 
or  it  might  be  a  log  of  flood-wood.  It  mattered  lit- 
tle, they  thought,  for  the  man  who  went  down  that 
fall  must  be  as  lifeless  as  a  log  when  cast  into  the 
whirl  of  madly  tossing  waves  at  its  foot. 

"  Puir  deevil !  "  Donald  said,  sighing  out  his  long 
held  breath,  "he  has  ta'en  his  last  look  o'  this 
warld !  Oh,  but  it 's  a  sair  sight  to  see  e'en  a  puir 
heathen  body  like  him  gaun  to  his  death,  an'  we  as 
helpless  as  bairns  to  save  him !  But  look ! "  he 
continued,  after  intently  scanning  the  broad  foam- 
flecked  pool,  and  pointing  to  a  dark  object  that  was 
tossed  along  in  the  sweep  of  an  eddy,  "  is  na  that 
him  ?  By  the  pikers  of  war !  I  think  sae  !  Come, 
John,  Sandy,  Donald,  let  us  awa'  in  the  canoe  and 
get  his  puir  mangled  body  till  we  gie  it  decent 
burial.  It 's  a'  we  can  do  for  him  now." 

So  saying  he  led  the  way  to  the  shore  where  a 
large  log  canoe  was  lying.  Launching  it,  he  and 
John  paddled  lustily  away  to  the  rescue  of  the 
body.  They  were  none  too  quick,  for  the  eddy  had 
cast  it  out  of  its  current  as  if  tired  of  so  poor  a 
plaything,  and  it  was  rapidly  drifting  toward  the 
unbroken  ice  below  and  would  soon  be  swept  under. 

"  By  the  pikers  o'  war ! "  cried  Donald,  as  their 


112  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

stout  pull  brought  the  canoe  near  the  object  of  their 
pursuit,  "  the  puir  heathen  saul  is  in  its  body  yet !  " 

It  was  even  so.  The  Indian  was  keeping  himself 
afloat  by  strokes  feebly  delivered  with  the  last  sur- 
viving human  instinct,  self-preservation. 

"  Let  me  get  a  grip  o'  his  black  pow  an'  I  '11  haud 
his  head  abune  water  whiles  I  tow  him  ashore. 
There,  pull  awa'  now,  John ;  ye  '11  hae  to  do  it  yer 
ain  sel'.  An'  there 's  his  pack  bobbin'  toward  us ! 
Easy,  lad,  till  I  tak'  it  aboard  ;  nae  doubt  there  '11 
be  gude  beaver  and  otter  fur  in  it,  an'  who  kens 
but  I  may  buy  them  o'  him  for  a  vera  reasonable 
consideration,  if  he  gets  weel  o'  his  drownin',  an'  if 
he  does  nae,  why  we  '11  e'en  tak'  it  for  salvage  an'  to 
pay  the  expenses  o'  the  funeral.  It 's  nae  like  there  '11 
be  heirs  claimin'  it." 

From  the  moment  that  Donald  had  laid  hold  of 
his  long  black  locks,  the  Indian  had  ceased  all  mo- 
tion of  his  own  and  suffered  himself  to  be  towed 
along  by  the  hair  as  quiescently  as  if  all  life  had 
departed  from  his  body.  When  the  canoe  grounded 
on  the  bank  and  his  knees  touched  the  bottom,  he 
strove  to  rise  and  help  himself,  but  he  was  too  much 
hurt  and  exhausted  by  his  fearful  struggle,  and 
so  chilled  to  the  marrow  by  the  icy  water,  that  he 
sank  in  a  helpless  heap  half  in  the  water,  half  on 
land. 

"  Tak'  him  up,  lads,"  said  Donald,  "  an'  lay  him 
on  yon  bank,  where  the  sun  shines  warm,  an'  throw 


McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES  113 

your  coats  ower  him.  An'  Donald,  ye  lang-legged 
loon,  run  to  the  house  an*  fetch  the  bottle  o'  whuskey, 
an'  bid  your  mither  warm  a  bed.  Run  as  if  Auld 
Hornie  was  chasm'  ye.  But  mind,  lad  !  "  as  Donald 
sprang  away,  "  nae  the  mickle  ane ;  the  wee  green 
glass  ane.  'T  wad  be  a  sin  to  pour  a  quart  o'  precious 
mountain  dew  intill  a  heathen  body  that  wad  na 
ken  the  differ  twixt  that  an'  Yankee  rum.  A  yill  's 
aneugh.  An'  now,  John  an'  Sandy,  get  poles  for  a 
litter,  for  I  fear  the  puir  drowned  deevil's  banes  are 
broken.  Lord !  to  think  o'  flesh  an'  bluid  comin' 
ower  that  fearfu'  linn  alive !  " 

Donald  soon  returned  with  the  flask  of  precious 
whiskey,  and  his  father  at  once  administered  an 
unstinted  dram  to  the  Indian.  As  the  potent  liquor 
began  to  warm  his  blood,  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
grunted,  "  Good  !  good  !  " 

44  Ye  may  weel  say  that,  mon,"  said  Donald,  "  for 
the  likes  o'  't  ne'er  warmed  your  weam  afore,  I  'se 
warrant  ye.  A  drap  o'  't  is  worth  a  gallon  o'  the 
Yankee  molasses  brew  you  're  like  best  acquant  wi'. 
Though  I  '11  admit  e'en  that  stuff  is  more  wholesome 
than  sic  a  deal  o'  water  as  ye  hae  had  the  day. 
Water,"  Donald  said,  continuing  the  consideration 
of  the  subject  while  he  busied  himself  with  the 
preparation  of  the  litter,  "  is  a  fine  invention  o'  the 
Almighty,  an'  I  dinna  ken  what  the  warld  wad  be 
wi'out  it ;  but  naebody  wants  a  bellyful  o'  't  forced 
intill  him  agen  his  will.  An'  it 's  an  objection  to  't 


114  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

that  folk  will  be  gettin'  drowned  in  't,  which  canna 
be  said  o'  whuskey,  though  they  tell  o'  an  English 
prince  that  was  drowned  in  a  butt  o'  wine  by  his  ain 
choice.  I  'm  thinking  the  puir  prince  was  daft  that 
he  didna  choose  gude  Scotch  whuskey  for  the  pur- 
pose. He  'd  hae  thought  himsel  in  the  land  o'  the 
leal  at  the  first  souze.  But  let  us  put  the  mon  on 
the  litter  an'  tak'  him  name." 

They  placed  the  Indian  on  the  rude  litter  and 
the  four  easily  bore  him  at  a  good  pace  along  the 
wide  pathway  cut  through  the  woods  from  the  river 
to  the  house,  to  which  he  was  presently  brought, 
undressed,  and  laid  in  the  bed  the  gude  wife  had 
warmed  for  him,  doubtless  the  most  luxurious  couch 
he  had  ever  lain  in. 

No  bones  were  broken  as  Donald  had  feared,  and 
though  the  poor  fellow  had  suffered  some  severe 
bruises  which  were  likely  to  prevent  his  traveling 
for  some  weeks  to  come,  he  was  soon  able  to  talk. 
Then,  by  the  few  English  words  at  his  command, 
helped  out  by  many  expressive  signs,  he  made  them 
understand  that  he  had  been  trapping  far  up  the 
river  and  was  on  his  way  home  to  Canada  when, 
for  the  sake  of  the  better  walking  the  ice  afforded, 
he  had  ventured  too  near  the  open  water.  Unaware, 
till  too  late,  that  the  ice  had  broken  away  above 
him,  he  passed  through  the  perilous  adventure  they 
had  witnessed,  losing  his  gun,  traps,  and  as  he  sup- 
posed, all  the  peltry  of  a  month's  trapping. 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  115 

His  face  was  slow  to  express  any  emotion,  but  it 
brightened  with  pleased  surprise  when  his  beaver 
and  otter  skins  were  shown  him,  not  one  missing 
and  all  nicely  dried  in  as  good  condition  as  when 
packed.  Donald  had  not  the  New  Englander's 
hatred  of  Indians,  indeed  he  had  quite  as  much 
liking  for  them  as  for  Yankees,  who  were  too  sharp 
at  a  bargain  to  please  him.  Therefore  this  man 
was  as  carefully  nursed  and  as  well  treated  as  if 
his  skin  had  been  as  white  and  his  hair  as  red  as 
Donald's  own. 

He  was  soon  able  to  sit  outdoors  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  house  and  weave  pretty  baskets  for  the 
gude  wife,  and  presently  got  into  the  woods,  where 
he  found  medicinal  herbs  to  cure  his  inward  and 
outward  hurts,  whereupon  he  mended  rapidly ;  and 
when  the  gray  of  the  woods  began  to  take  on  the 
tender  green  of  newly  opened  leaves,  and  the  for- 
est's brown  floor  was  dappled  with  thousands  of 
white  moose-flowers,  he  began  the  building  of  a 
canoe.  Donald's  sons  would  not  have  tired  of 
watching  the  curious  fashioning  of  this  craft  if  it 
had  taken  thrice  as  long  to  peel  off  the  long  sheet 
of  white  birch-bark,  to  make  the  ash  frame,  to  sew 
the  seams  with  spruce  roots,  and  make  them  water- 
tight with  grease  and  turpentine,  and  then  to  drive 
in  the  lining  of  cedar  splints.  A  few  days  sufficed 
to  finish  it,  and  Joe  Wadso  was  only  waiting  to 
be  sure  that  Petowbowk  was  as  clear  of  ice  as 


116  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

Wonakaketuk  to  begin  his  long,  lonely  journey 
to  Canada. 

One  day  he  paddled  down  the  river  to  its  mouth, 
and  finding  the  lake  a  shining,  sparkling  expanse 
of  open  water  as  far  northward  as  he  could  see, 
returned  and  made  ready  for  final  departure.  He 
could  not  barter  all  his  furs  for  the  bright  cloth, 
beads,  and  trinkets  Donald  offered  him ;  there  were 
things  more  wanted  in  the  little  wigwam  of  St. 
Francis ;  but  he  did  exchange  a  goodly  portion  of 
them  for  an  indispensable  gun  and  axe,  and  he 
gave  the  handsomest  otter  skin  of  them  all  to 
Gudewife  Mclntosh. 

"  Goo'-by,  Makintoose,"  he  said,  shaking  hands 
with  the  man  who  had  saved  his  life.  "  You  good ; 
me  no  forgit  um." 

"  Gude-by,  Watson,"  said  Donald,  —  the  Scotch- 
man's tongue  could  get  no  nearer  his  name  than 
this,  — "  gude-by,  Watson.  It 's  a  lang  road  ye 
hae  before  ye,  but  I  trust  it  '11  be  a  smoother  ain 
nor  that  ye  cam'  by." 

Wadso  stepped  into  his  canoe  and  paddled  away. 
The  thunder  of  Ne-tah-me-pun-tuk  roared  behind 
him  along  many  a  winding  reach  of  the  noble  river ; 
then,  when  the  waves  of  Petowbowk  danced  before 
him,  fell  to  a  murmur  like  the  voice  of  the  wind  in 
pine  trees,  till  at  last  as  he  turned  his  prow  north- 
ward, toward  the  meeting  of  lake  and  sky,  its  voice 
was  heard  no  more. 


McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES  117 

Summer  had  come  and  gone,  and  so  had  Colonel 
Keid's  force  of  workmen  ;  but  they  had  left  more 
noticeable  traces  of  their  presence  than  the  season 
had.  One  summer's  growth  was  not  perceptible 
in  trees  that  were  old  when  white  men  first  had 
seen  them,  and  Netahmepuntuk  spoke  to  the  wilder- 
ness in  the  same  thunderous  voice  it  had  uttered 
for  uncounted  years.  Nature's  slow  changes  in 
the  short  space  of  months  were  unmarked,  but  the 
hand  of  her  puny  offspring  had  made  its  sign  of 
conquest,  destroying  with  a  few  axe-strokes  trees 
that  had  cost  her  the  sunshine  and  rain  and  fattened 
soil  of  a  century  to  rear ;  building  with  the  tools  he 
had  wrested  from  her,  engines  that  were  to  help 
him  in  his  labor  of  destruction.  The  little  sawmill 
looked  pert,  intrusive,  and  insignificant,  overtopped 
as  it  was  by  the  forest,  and  in  its  out-of-place  new- 
ness like  some  strange  waif  of  the  floods  stranded 
on  the  rocky  verge  of  the  fall.  It  was  finished,  cov- 
ered with  boards  of  its  own  sawing,  and  had  already 
begun  to  gnaw  at  the  heart  of  the  woods.  There 
was  little  call  for  boards  yet,  but  there  would  be,  — 
settlers  were  coming  in,  and  the  sawmill  bided  its 
time.  The  grist-mill  was  begun  and  next  year  would 
be  ready  for  work,  —  a  little  prematurely,  for  the 
virgin  soil  was  yet  unstirred,  the  grain  it  was  to 
grind  not  yet  sown.  But  grists  would  come  and 
the  mill  would  be  ready  for  them. 

The  leaves  had  fallen  again  and  the  approach  of 


118  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

winter  was  each  day  becoming  more  evident.  The 
November  blasts,  clashing  the  naked  branches  and 
scattering  the  dead  leaves  in  wild  flurries ;  the 
clouds  of  mists  they  swept  from  the  shattered 
waters  of  the  cataract;  the  cawing  of  departing 
crows ;  the  clangor  of  wild  geese  hurrying  south- 
ward in  great  flights,  all  told  of  its  coming.  Indeed, 
its  royal  seal  was  already  set  on  lofty  Tah-wah- 
be-de-e  Wad-so,  whose  peak  now  shone  against  the 
steel  blue  sky  at  midday  dazzling  white ;  at  evening, 
rose-tinted  in  the  last  sunset  rays. 

The  shadows  of  night  were  falling  around  Donald 
Mclntosh's  blockhouse  almost  as  thick  in  the  little 
clearing  as  in  the  illimitable  forest,  for  all  the  few 
stars  that  coldly  glittered  above  it  and  the  reflected 
light  of  its  square  patch  of  sky.  Not  a  glimmer  of 
lamp  or  firelight  came  through  barred  door  and 
shutters.  To  one  who  approached  it,  the  place 
would  have  seemed  deserted  by  humankind,  and 
its  loneliness  was  made  more  lonely  than  by  perfect 
silence  by  the  solemn,  ceaseless  roar  of  the  falls 
and  by  the  long  howl  of  a  wolf  —  a  wail  as  melan- 
choly, as  hopeless  as  the  voice  of  some  lost  spirit, 
doomed  to  eternal,  lonely  wanderings. 

Doubly  cheerful,  by  contrast  with  the  gloom  and 
loneliness  of  its  outward  surroundings,  was  the 
cheerful  interior  of  Donald's  housed  The  great 
wood-fire,  blazing  in  the  wide  fireplace,  filled  the 
room  with  light  and  warmth,  and  the  flaring  flames 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  119 

that  licked  the  huge  back-log  set  grotesque  shadows 
dancing  on  the  rough  walls,  now  leaping  to  the 
beams  and  boards  of  the  ceiling,  now  sinking  to 
the  puncheon  floor,  —  shadows  of  the  Highlander 
and  his  family,  who  were  sitting  around  the  hearth 
variously  employed. 

Donald  sat  with  folded  arms  smoking  his  cutty 
and  thinking  of  other  lands  and  scenes,  when  his 
abstracted  gaze  was  lifted  from  the  lurid  pictures 
of  the  fire  to  the  long  gun  that  hung  above  the 
mantel,  honored  more  than  the  three  Tower  mus- 
kets that  also  hung  there,  for  it  was  the  gun  he 
had  carried  in  Culloden  fight ;  and  by  it  hung  his 
skene  dhu,  or  Highland  dirk.  Gudewife  Bessie  was 
knitting,  while  she  had  an  eye  to  the  venison  stew- 
ing in  the  pot  hanging  high  on  the  trammel  and  to 
two  great  johnny-cakes  baking  on  their  boards  atilt 
before  the  fire  —  one  trick  of  Yankee  cookery  that 
the  gudeman  favored.  John,  the  eldest  son,  was 
weaving  the  raw-hide  filling  of  a  snowshoe  after 
the  Indian  fashion  he  had  learned  of  Wadso.  Alex- 
ander, or  Sandy,  was  whittling  the  ashen  bow  of 
one  of  another  pair  of  this  indispensable  winter 
foot-gear.  Donald,  the  youngest,  a  tall  lad  for  his 
fourteen  years,  was  reading  by  the  firelight  one  of 
the  few  books  they  possessed.  He  was  a  studious 
boy,  much  given  to  wandering  alone  in  the  woods 
and  finding  out  the  medicinal  virtues  of  roots  and 
herbs,  learning  them  of  the  Indians  who  frequently 


120  McINTOSH   OF   VERGENNES 

came  there  to  trade,  and  also  by  experiment  on 
himself.  Following  this  bent,  he  later  became  a  doc- 
tor, and  many  an  old  volume  may  now  be  found 
bearing  the  signature  of  "  Dr.  Donald  Mclntosh." 
Each  was  so  busy  with  his  thoughts  or  occupation 
that  a  long  silence  had  fallen  on  the  group,  which 
Donald  the  younger  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Something  I  hae  read  here  minds  me,  I  dinna 
ken  how,  o'  a  tale  the  Indian,  Wadso,  tauld  me  o' 
the  linn  ;  a  gruesome  auld-time  tale  o'  his  folk, 
how  the  Great  Spirit  saved  them  when  they  were 
near  swept  off  the  face  o'  the  airth." 

"  Gie  it  till  us,  lad,"  said  Donald,  knocking  the 
ashes  from  his  cutty  and  refilling  it  from  his  pouch. 
"  It  '11  sarve  to  while  away  the  time  whiles  the  ban- 
nocks are  bakin'.  The  reek  o'  your  pot  makes  the 
time  seem  ower  lang,  Bessie." 

Bessie  set  the  boards  more  upright  against  the 
flatirons  that  held  them,  and  young  Donald  began 
his  story,  which  ran  this  wise :  — 

"  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  ago,  Wadso's 
people,  the  Zooquagese,  had  been  reduced  to  a 
mere  handful,  and  this  poor  remnant  of  their  once 
powerful  tribe  was  now  in  imminent  danger  of  com- 
plete extinction.  For  many  days  the  few  canoe- 
loads  of  starving  people  had  been  fleeing  before 
a  strong  war  party  of  their  ancient  enemies,  the 
Iroquois.  Too  weak  to  make  even  a  show  of  resist- 
ance, their  only  hope  was  in  flight  or  hiding,  and 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  121 

it  seemed  as  if  these  might  not  avail  to  save  them 
now.  From  Quineaska 1  to  Wonakaketuk,2  dodging 
from  point  to  point,  from  bay  to  hidden  cove,  they 
had  been  followed  by  their  relentless  pursuers,  only 
escaping  capture  because  their  birch-bark  canoes 
were  fleeter  than  the  clumsier  elm-bark  ones  of 
their  enemies.  But  the  arms  of  starving  men  were 
weak,  and  their  foes  were  close  upon  them,  when, 
as  a  last  resort,  they  sped  up  the  winding  reaches 
of  Wonakaketuk,  seeking  refuge  in  the  heart  of  the 
wilderness.  As  the  last  canoe  of  the  Zooquagese 
was  disappearing  around  a  wooded  bend,  a  spent 
arrow  from  the  foremost  Iroquois  canoe  came  curv- 
ing down  from  its  flight  and  splashed  in  the  water 
beside  it.  The  pursuers,  now  certain  of  the  prey 
that  so  long  had  baffled  and  eluded  them,  rent  the 
stillness  of  the  forest  with  a  yell  so  devilish  that 
the  Zooquagese  women  covered  their  heads  with 
their  robes,  and  hugging  their  starving  babies  to 
their  breasts  sat  silently  awaiting  death.  Their 
medicine -man,  so  old  that  his  head  was  white  as 
the  snow  on  Tahwahbede-e  Wadso,  had  performed 
every  incantation  that  he  hoped  might  bring  deliv- 
erance, and  yet  continued  to  pray  fervently. 

" '  Great  Master  of  Life ! '  he  cried,  in  a  shrill 
voice,  tremulous  with  age  but  not  with  fear,  4  be- 
hold how  near  thy  people  are  to  death.  Once  they 

1  Shelburne  Point. 

2  "  The  Crooked  River,"  or  Otter  Creek. 


122  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

were  many;  now  they  are  few.  Yet  spare  them, 
O  Master !  Let  not  their  lives  be  as  the  track  of 
a  wind-blown  leaf  upon  the  snow.  Spare  them, 
that  the  White  Land  may  again  be  peopled  with 
the  Zooquagese.  What  have  they  done  to  make 
thee  angry?  When  their  corn  was  planted,  came 
frost  and  drouth  to  kill  it.  The  arrows  of  the  hunt- 
ers were  blunted ;  they  could  kill  no  game.  They 
starved,  eating  roots  like  bears,  eating  bark  like 
the  Adirondacks.  Their  strong  men  grew  weak  ; 
their  women  cried  continually  with  hunger,  and 
many  died  —  men,  women,  and  children.  See  how 
few  are  left.  Now  come  the  Iroquois  wolves  to 
devour  them.  What  shall  they  do  to  appease  thy 
anger?  Take  thou  one  and  spare  the  rest.  Many 
days  have  I  seen.  For  a  hundred  years  have  my 
eyes  beheld  the  greenness  of  the  forest ;  the  snows 
of  winter  come  and  go.  They  have  beheld  the  wig- 
wams of  the  Zooquagese  on  every  stream  of  the 
White  Land  ;  their  warriors  so  many  that  they  held 
the  gate  of  the  country  against  the  Iroquois  wolves. 
They  shall  not  see  the  last  of  my  people  devoured 
by  them.  Take  thou  me,  O  Master  of  Life,  and 
spare  them ! ' 

"  Grasping  in  each  withered  hand  a  heavy  stone 
axe,  he  arose,  and  with  a  light  upon  his  face  as  if 
even  now  there  shone  upon  it  the  eternal  summer 
of  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds,  he  sprang  from 
the  canoe  and  sank  like  a  plummet  beneath  the 


McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  123 

waters.  So  sure  of  their  prey  that  they  would  not 
Waste  an  arrow  on  this  pitiful  remnant  of  the  Zoo- 
quagese,  the  Iroquois  were  sweeping  upon  them  in 
a  double  line  of  canoes  stretching  from  shore  to 
shore.  As  the  Zooquagese  looked  back,  they  saw, 
where  the  circling  ripples  briefly  marked  the  place 
of  their  venerated  priest's  disappearance,  the  wide 
river  suddenly  broke  in  twain,  —  that  part  beyond, 
with  banks  and  forest,  sinking  down,  down,  far  below 
them,  while  the  mighty  volume  of  the  river,  rush- 
ing over  the  precipice  to  the  lower  level,  engulfed 
every  Iroquois  in  death  so  instantaneous  that  their 
dying  yell  was  heard  but  for  one  moment  rising 
with  the  new-born  thunder  of  Netahinepuntuk." 

"An'  did  Watson  tell  ye  that  fule's  tale,  lad?" 
Donald  said,  when  his  son  had  ended  his  story. 
"  Aweel,  it 's  my  belief  the  Linn  o'  Otter  was  cre- 
ated lang  before  Zooquagese,  or  ony  ither  geese, 
were  in  the  warld.  Accordin'  to  Scripture  the 
warld  was  finished  "  — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  light  knock  at  the 
door,  a  sound  so  unusual  that  all  were  startled  by  it. 

"Wha's  there?"  Donald  demanded,  taking 
down  his  skene  dhu  and  going  to  the  door. 

"  Me !  "  a  low  voice  answered. 

"  There 's  mony  a  '  me  '  i'  the  warld  that  I  wadna 
let  in,"  said  Donald.  "  Gie  us  your  name,  mon." 

"  Me,"  the  voice  repeated  in  as  low  a  tone. 
"  Don't  know  um,  Joe  Wadso,  Makintoose  ?  " 


124  McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES 

"By  the  pikers  o'  war!"  cried  Donald,  begin- 
ning to  unbar  the  door.  "  If  it  isna  the  very  un  we 
were  speakin'  o'  I  Speak  o'  the  deil  an'  he  '11  be  at 
your  lug !  Come  in,  mon.  But  haud  a  bit ;  are 
ye  alane  ?  "  peering  cautiously  out  into  the  dark- 
ness through  the  chink  of  the  scarcely  opened 
door.  The  narrow  bar  of  light  fell  on  but  one 
figure,  and  this  Donald  admitted,  quickly  closing 
and  fastening  the  door  again. 

"  Set  your  gun  i'  the  corner,  Watson,  and  come 
to  the  ingleside.  There  's  a  stepmither's  breath  i' 
the  air  the  night.  An'  ye  keep  the  old  fusee  yet  ?  " 
he  said  in  amused  wonder,  as  his  eye  caught  the 
familiar  brass  mountings  of  the  gun  he  had  sold 
the  Indian.  "  Lord  !  but  I  thought  she  'd  'a'  kickit 
hersel*  out  o'  your  reach  ere  this.  A  wicked  piece, 
she  is,  wi'  na  choice  o'  which  end  she  kills  maist 
at." 

"  Yas,"  the  Indian  said,  with  partial  understand- 
ing of  Donald's  discourse,  "  he  good  gun ;  me  feel 
um  when  he  shoot.  Kill  urn  plenty." 

They  were  all  glad  to  see  him.  The  coming  of 
any  peaceably  disposed  visitor  was  a  pleasant  break 
in  their  isolated  life;  but  Wadso  was  a  friend, — 
one  whom  having  succored,  they  could  no  more 
help  having  a  kindly  regard  for  than  he  for  them. 

He  told  them  in  his  broken  English  of  his  long, 
lonely  journey  home ;  recounting  all  its  small  ad- 
ventures with  the  minuteness  that  hunters  and 


McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES  125 

woods-haunters  love  to  hear  and  tell ;  how  he  had 
thrown  his  last  handful  of  tobacco  to  dread  Waja- 
hose,1  the  Forbidder,  and  so  made  safe  his  journey 
thence  to  the  end  of  the  lake ;  and  how  his  family 
had  rejoiced  over  his  coming  as  of  one  returned  from 
the  dead.  He  gave  John  his  approval  of  the  weav- 
ing of  the  easier  ends  of  the  snowshoe,  and  helped 
him  out  with  the  more  intricate  and  puzzling 
middle  part ;  gave  the  finishing  touches  with  his 
crooked  knife  to  Sandy's  frames,  and  answered 
young  Donald's  questions  concerning  certain  wild 
plants. 

The  johnny-cakes  and  venison  stew  were  served, 
and  when  the  meal  was  ended,  Donald  and  his 
guest  sat  before  the  cheerful  hearth  and  chatted  as 
they  smoked  their  pipes,  till,  when  they  had  ex- 
hausted many  topics,  there  came  a  lull  in  their  talk. 
After  casting  a  furtive  glance  around  the  group, 
the  Indian,  turning  suddenly  to  his  host  and  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  knee,  broke  the  silence. 

"  Makintoose,  you  know  um  what  for  me  come  ?  " 
"  Aweel,  Watson,  to  mak'  a  friendly  visit,  nae 
doubt,  an'  happen  to  sell  me  some  furs.    But  mind 
ye,  Watson,  I  canna  gie  ye  sae  mickle  for  furs  ye 
hae  ta'en  this  airly  in  the  season.    It 's  a  puir  fash- 
ion ye  Indian  bodies  hae  o'  catchin'  the  beasties 
before  they  hae  put  on  their  winter  claes,  an'  the 
killin'  o'  half-grown  musquash  kits,  their  skins  not 
1  Rock  Dundee. 


126  McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES 

worth  takin'  off,  is  shamefu'  waste  o'  God's  gifts, 
an'  I  'se  warrant  ye  hae  a  score  o'  the  like  in  your 
pack!" 

"  Yas,"  the  Indian « assented,  "some  Injun  bad. 
Dat  what  me  come  for  tell  um  you.  So  many," 
holding  up  both  hands  with  the  fingers  extended. 
"  Not  catch  um  much  ;  come  here  soon  ;  takum  'way 
you  cloth,  you  bead,  you  gun,  axe,  all!  No  give 
um  you  not'ing  for  um  !  Maybe  kill !  No  let  um  all 
come  in  one  time.  Jus'  one.  Mq  hear  um  talk  plan. 
Me  come  tell  um  you,  long,  long  way  up  Sungahne 
tuk.  Dey  know,  dey  killum  me.  You  no  tell  um?  " 

"  Tell  o'  ye,  mon !  "  cried  Donald,  in  a  towering 
rage  at  the  disclosure.  "  Nae,  nae  ;  but  by  the 
pikers  o'  war,  I  '11  blaw  the  murtherin'  sauls  out  o' 
their  bodies.  The  murtherin'  thieves,  to  plot  such 
deevilment  on  me  wha  hae  always  been  their  friend 
an'  dealt  fair  wi'  them.  I  '11  blaw  the  heads  off 
their  bodies  gin  they  come  wi'in  musket  range  o' 
the  house." 

"  No,  Makintoose,  no  kill  um ;  no  best  way. 
All  Injun  in  St.  Francis  come  fight  um  you  den. 
No,  no ;  no  kill  um.  No  let  um  come  in  house. 
By  um  by  go  'way." 

"  Aweel,  nae  doubt  't  wad  be  imprudent,"  Don- 
ald admitted,  after  some  consideration,  "  but  it 
wad  be  maist  comfortin'  till  my  saul  to  kill  every 
deil's  son  o'  them.  Ten  o'  them,  ye  say  ?  An'  when 
may  I  be  expectin'  the  pleasure  o'  their  company  ?  " 


McINTOSH  OF   VERGENNES  127 

"  Makintoose  speakum  too  big  word ;  me  no 
un'stan'." 

"  When  will  they  come  ? "  Mclntosh  repeated 
his  question  in  simpler  phrase. 

"  Mebbe  to-morrow.  Goin'  leave  canoe  Wonaka- 
ketukese1  mebbe  nex'  day.  Come  daytime.  Make 
b'lieve  come  sell  fur;  big  pack;  leaf  in  it.  All 
come  in,  git  hold  gun.  Makintoose  no  can  shoot. 
Den  take  all.  Go  Canada." 

"  Damn  them !  If  they  tak'  awa'  their  hides 
whole  they  may  be  thankfu',"  cried  Donald. 

"  Well,"  said  Wadso,  rising,  "  me  go  now." 

"  Go  !  "  crjed  Donald  in  astonishment.  "  Go  ? 
Deil  a  step  '11  ye  go  out  o'  this  till  the  morrow ! 
You  're  daft,  mon  !  " 

"  Yas,"  said  the  Indian,  "  mus'  go.  Goin'  snow 
'fore  mornin'.  Track  tell  urn  story  me  been  here. 
Dat  no  good  for  me." 

"  Weel,  if  ye  must  ye  must,  but  it 's  no  to  my 
mind  to  hae  a  friend  gang  fra'  my  door  at  this 
hour ;  an'  I  dinna  think  it  can  snaw  the  night.  A' 
the  stars  were  shinin'  when  I  let  ye  in." 

"  Yas,  snow  sartin,"  said  the  Indian,  when 
Donald  had  opened  the  door,  as  he  pointed  to  the 
stars  now  dimly  shining  through  a  thickening  haze. 
"  Goo'-by,  Makintoose.  You  no  help  me,  no  Joe 
Wadso,  now.  Me  tell  um  you  me  no  forget.  You 
b'lieve  um  ?  " 

1  Little  Otter  Creek. 


128  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

"  Ye  're  a  gude  mon,  Watson,  ye  hae  paid  mair 
nor  ye  owed,"  said  Donald  warmly,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  his  departing  guest.  "  Fare  ye  weel,  an' 
gude  luck  attend  ye." 

When  the  form  of  the  Indian  had,  noiseless  as  a 
shadow,  vanished  in  the  gloom,  Donald  barred  the 
door  with  more  than  usual  care  and  inspected  the 
fastenings  of  the  window  and  loopholes. 

"  The  deevils  canna  storm  the  place.  It  '11  be 
by  strategy  they  '11  tak'  it  if  at  a'.  An'  now,  lads, 
we  '11  see  if  the  guns  are  a'  in  order  an'  run  a  few 
mair  balls,  an'  then  bide  what  the  morrow  will 
bring." 

The  blood  of  Donald's  sons  had  lost  nothing  of 
the  Highland  warmth  by  their  American  birth, 
and  they  entered  with  alacrity  upon  the  preparation 
for  a  fight  which  they  hoped  might  come.  When 
the  guns  were  cleaned  and  loaded,  a  good  supply  of 
bullets  cast  and  trimmed,  and  powder  horns  filled, 
bedtime  came  at  a  much"  later  hour  than  usual  to 
the  family,  though  they  were  to  rise  at  the  earliest 
daylight  and  bring  in  wood  and  water  enough  to 
last,  if  need  be,  through  a  two  days'  siege. 

The  day  dawned  late  and  dim,  for  the  Indian's 
forecasting  of  the  weather  had  been  true,  and  the 
dull,  gray  sky  was  sifting  down  a  snowfall  that  was 
fast  turning  the  dark  woods  to  a  lighter  gray  than 
bare  trunks  and  naked  branches  had  worn. '  The 
silence  of  the  forest  was  never  deeper  than  now. 


McINTOSH   OF  YERGENNES  129 

The  muffled  roar  of  the  falls  only  emphasized  it, 
nor  was  it  broken  by  any  sound  nor  its  wintry  dead- 
ness  stirred  by  any  signs  of  life  but  the  axe  strokes 
and  swiftly  moving  figures  of  Donald  and  his  sons 
as  they  cut  and  gathered  their  fuel. 

"  Now,"  said  Donald,  when  they  had  finished, 
"  deil  a  step  we  '11  stir  abroad  till  yon  thieves  hae 
come  an'  gane,  an'  the  quicker  they  come  the  better, 
if  they  're  to  come  at  a'.  Watson  was  right,  but 
wha  but  an  Indian  wad  hae  thought  o'  snaw  fallin' 
saesoon?  An' the  stars  blinkin' sae  bright.  They're 
as  wise  as  the  musquash  consairnin'  auld  Dame 
Nature's  whimwhams  o'  weather.  They  're  closer 
friends  o'  her  nor  we,  an'  she  tells  them  o'  mony  a 
plan  o'  hers  lang  before  we  guess  o'  't." 

It  was  tedious  waiting  the  coming  of  their  evil- 
minded  visitors,  as  each  in  turn  kept  watch  at  the 
narrow  embrasure  through  which  came  the  only 
daylight  that  entered  the  room  —  a  dull,  gray  bar 
that  now  feebly  pierced  the  shadows,  now  was 
touched,  now  overcome  by  the  yellow  firelight.  Till 
the  sunless,  unmarked  noontide,  the  watchers  saw 
only  the  stump-dotted  clearing,  fading  away  to  the 
indistinct  wall  of  the  forest,  a  blur  behind  the  veil 
of  falling  snow.  Then  to  his  strained  vision  it 
seemed  as  if  a  tall  stump  had  become  endowed  with 
life  and  was  drawing  nearer,  followed  by  another 
and  another  till  ten  figures,  advancing  in  single 
file,  were  revealed. 


130  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

"  Here  they  come  !  "  said  John,  who  was  watch- 
ing at  the  loophole.  "  Ten  o'  them,  now  in  line  sae 
that  I  could  put  ane  ball  through  the  half  o'  them. 
What  for  no  ?  " 

"  Nae,  nae,  lad,"  said  his  father  peremptorily,  "  I 
hae  a  better  plan,  an'  if  it  warks  weel,  the  thievin' 
loons  will  learn  a  lesson  they  winna  forget,  an'  't 
will  serve  us  better  nor  if  bluid  were  shed ;  though 
I  confess  I  hae  nae  qualms  o'  conscience  against  it, 
in  this  case." 

While  Donald  spoke,  the  leading  Indian  had 
come  boldly  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

"  What  wad  ye  be  wantin'  ? "  the  Highlander 
demanded  through  the  loophole. 

"  Wantum  come  in,"  the  Indian  replied,  "  snow 
um  hard." 

"  Aweel,"  said  Donald,  "  a  wee  bit  powtherin'  o' 
snaw  winna  harm  ye.  I  dinna  ken  wha  ye  are.  For 
aught  I  ken  ye  may  be  the  Yankee  Allen  an'  his 
rievin'  gang,  maskin'  in  the  dress  o'  honest  In- 
dians." 

"  Ha !  ha  !  "  the  Indian  laughed.  "  No  Pasto- 
niac.1  Makintoose  not  know  me,  Wokses  ?  Sell  um 
you  plenty  fur  many  time.  Got  um  plenty  fur  now. 
See !  "  holding  up  his  plethoric  pack,  and  pointing 
to  those  of  his  companions.  "  Come,  open  klogan." 

"  I  hae  nae  objection  till  honest  trade,"  said 
Donald,  after  some  apparent  deliberation,  "an'  I 

1  Yankee. 


MclNTOSH  OF  VERGENNES  131 

will  let  ye  in,  ane  at  a  time ;  but  ane  at  a  time, 
mind ! " 

"How  long  Makintoose  be  squaw,  an'  git  urn 
'fraid  friend  ?  "  the  Indian  insolently  demanded. 

"  Ye  half  painted,  neither  black  nor  white  son  o' 
the  deil !  I  'm  weel  minded  to  blaw  ye  to  hell,  where 
ye  belang !  "  cried  Donald  in  a  blaze  of  anger  at 
this  imputation  of  cowardice,  drawing  back  to  put 
his  musket  through  the  loophole.  Recovering  him- 
self, he  said  in  a  calm  voice,  "  Come  in,  ane  at  a 
time,  or  gang  awa'  the  gait  ye  cam'." 

The  Indian  understood  his  anger  but  not  the 
words  in  which  it  was  expressed,  and  withdrawing 
a  little  consulted  briefly  with  his  companions. 

"  Well,  Makintoose,  we  no  'fraid  of  friend  ;  we 
come  in,  then  nudder  an'  nudder.  Open  klogan  ;  " 
and  he  came  alone  to  the  door.  It  was  opened 
just  wide  enough  to  admit  him,  then  closed  and 
barred  so  quickly  behind  him  that  his  comrades 
found  their  premeditated  rush  stopped  before  they 
reached  the  threshold.  The  look  of  mingled  sur- 
prise and  sullen  defiance  which  the  face  of  Wokses 
wore  when  he  found  himself  cut  off  from  his  com- 
panions and  confronted  by  the  muzzles  of  the  three 
muskets  in  the  hands  of  Donald's  sons,  was  an 
expression  worth  studying,  but  the  little  garrison 
troubled  themselves  not  with  that. 

"Set  your  gun  i'  the  corner  an'  listen  to  me," 
Donald  said  sternly. 


132  McINTOSH  OF  VERGENNES 

The  Indian  sullenly  obeyed,  and  with  folded  arms 
confronted  the  Scot. 

"  I  hae  a  beuk,"  Donald  said  impressively,  as  he 
opened  the  blackest  and  mustiest  volume  in  his  pos- 
session, "  that  tells  me  a'  things.  The  leaves  that 
talk  hae  tauld  me  where  ye  hae  been  ;  on  Sungah- 
netuk,  and  what  ye  hae  planned.  Ye  hae  come  to 
rob  me  that  hae  aye  been  your  friend.  It  tells  me 
that  the  furs  in  your  pack  are  not  worth  a  baubee. 
Your  pack  is  filled  wi'  leaves.  Open  it." 

The  expression  of  astonishment  on  the  face  of  the 
Indian,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  control  it,  grew 
to  one  of  terror  without  changing  in  sullenness ;  but 
he  did  not  move. 

"  Open  it ! "  Donald  repeated,  pointing  to  the 
pack,  and  John  raised  his  piece  till  Wokses  saw  a 
little  way  down  its  black  muzzle. 

Then  he  stooped  and  slowly  unbound  the  thongs 
of  his  pack  while  he  cast  upward  furtive  glances, 
and  at  last  exposed  packages  of  leaves  bound  in 
sheets  of  birch-bark. 

"Now,  gang  doun  there,"  Donald  commanded, 
pointing  to  the  cellar  hatchway,  now  yawning  a 
little  black  square  in  the  puncheon  floor.  The  Indian 
hesitated,  but  the  three  guns  steadily  pointing  at 
him  were  potent  persuaders,  and  he  went  down  the 
steps  into  the  darkness. 

"  If  ye  show  your  head  till  I  tell  ye,  I  '11  blaw  it 
off  your  body,"  Donald  said,  and  turned  to  the 


McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES  133 

loophole  while  one  of  his  sons  stood  guard  at  the 
hatch. 

"  Now,  let  another  come  !  " 

Hesitatingly  another  Indian  came  forward,  was 
let  in,  cut  off  from  the  others,  and  by  the  same 
means  as  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  foreknow- 
ledge of  the  wise  Makintoose  as  their  leader  had 
been.  He,  too,  was  ordered  into  the  cellar  and 
another  was  told  to  come  in.  More  reluctantly  than 
the  others,  he  did  so,  and  was  treated  just  as  they 
had  been ;  told  the  purpose  of  their  visit,  the  con- 
tents of  his  pack,  obliged  to  prove  it  by  opening  it, 
and  then  to  go  into  the  cellar.  The  mysterious  dis- 
appearance of  their  friends,  who  had  entered  and 
thereafter  made  no  sign,  struck  those  who  yet  were 
outside  with  suspicion  of  something  dreadful  await- 
ing them ;  and  when  the  next  was  told  to  come  in 
he  refused,  and  all  withdrew,  at  first  slowly,  then 
with  swifter  pace,  till  presently,  panic  seized  them 
and  they  fled  to  the  woods,  each  striving  to  gain  first 
the  shelter  of  the  trees.  When  Donald  was  assured 
of  their  retreat,  he  closed  the  loophole  and  turned 
to  the  cellar  hatch. 

"  Come  up,  now,  Wokses !  "  he  called.  "  Come 
up,  the  hail  o'  ye." 

Shamefaced  and  sullen,  the  three  climbed  the 
steps  and  ranged  themselves,  covered  by  the  guns 
of  the  Highlander's  sons.  "  Now,  Wokses,"  said 
Donald  in  a  stern  voice,  "  ye  see  that  I  kenned  a' 


134  McINTOSH   OF  VERGENNES 

your  wicked  plans.  An'  by  the  same  token,"  tap- 
ping his  book,  "  I  shall  ken  a'  ye  plan  against  me 
hereafter.  But  for  that,  I  wad  kill  ye  like  wolves, 
as  ye  weel  disarve.  But  ye  canna  harm  me,  ye  puir 
fules  o'  murtherin'  thieves.  Ye  canna  tak  a  step  fra 
this  till  Canada  but  I  will  ken  it  by  this  beuk.  Tak 
your  firelocks  and  yon  packs  o'  rubbish  leaves  an' 
gang  back  till  Wonakaketukese,  where  ye  left  your 
canoes.  Go,  as  hail  as  ye  cam,  but  never  let  me  set 
eyes  on  ye  mair,  or  by  the  pikers  o'  war !  I  '11  blaw 
the  black  hearts  out  o'  ye." 

So  saying  he  closed  the  door  on  them,  and  they 
departed  in  sullen  silence,  never  looking  back  till 
their  fading  forms  were  absorbed  in  the  gray  of 
the  woods. 

"  Aweel,"  said  Donald,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
closed  the  loophole,  "  we  're  rid  o'  them  an'  naebody 
hurt,  though  possibly  a'  were  a  wee  bit  scared. 
But  o'  that  inward  hurt,  I  doubt  the  Indians  hae 
the  warst.  An'  now,  Bessie,  lass,  get  some  Yankee 
bannocks  bakin',  for  this  strategy  o'  war  is  hungry 
wark." 


A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

A  MORNING  train  passed  out  of  the  thronging  city 
among  the  freshly  budding  trees  and  green  fields, 
on  and  on,  northward  till  it  reached  dun  meadows 
and  pastures  and  bare  woods,  just  purpling  with 
swollen  buds,  that  were  but  yesterday  deserted  by 
the  sugar  makers.  When  the  last  busy  town  had 
been  left  behind,  there  was  a  stretch  of  level  country 
that  tired  one  of  the  passengers  with  its  dreary 
sameness,  and  he  became  more  interested  in  the 
people  who  entered  the  train  at  the  wayside  stations. 
There  were  farmers,  ill  at  ease  in  holiday  attire ; 
shrewd  speculators  whose  conversation  was  of  pota- 
toes and  hay  ;  a  clerk  of  a  country  store,  proud  of 
the  recognition  of  a  couple  of  commercial  travelers; 
a  meek-faced  clergyman,  traveling  on  half-fare  and 
looking  as  if  his  living  were  the  same  ;  a  jaded 
woman  with  a  crying  baby  ;  another,  serene  in  the 
midst  of  her  restless  and  numerous  brood ;  some 
giggling  school  girls  and  the  inevitable  newly  mar- 
ried couple,  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  pre- 
sent event  of  their  lives  was  as  momentous  to  all 
the  world  as  to  them.  Of  them  all,  his  kindliest 
interest  was  drawn  to  an  old  woman  who  came  in 
burdened  with  a  satchel,  a  bundle  and  a  double- 


136  A  SON  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

lidded  wicker  basket,  for  which  he  helped  her  to 
find  places.  A  cloud  of  anxiety  was  partially  lifted 
from  her  kindly  face  when  she  was  settled  in  her 
seat  with  the  basket  in  her  lap.  She  raised  one  lid 
and,  after  a  careful  inspection  of  the  contents, 
selected  a  couple  of  cakes,  one  of  which  she  offered 
her  new  acquaintance  while  she  attacked  the  other 
with  the  scattered  skirmish  line  of  her  few  remain- 
ing teeth. 

"  I  guess  I  was  journey  praoud  this  mornin'  an' 
this  noon  tew,"  she  apologized,  "  for  I  could  n't 
seem  tu  eat  no  breakf  us'  nor  no  dinner  sca'cely,  an* 
begin  tu  feel  the  want  on  'em.  You  'd  better  hev  you 
a  cookey  ;  they  're  proper  good  an'  got  caraways  in 
'em.  My  son's  wife  made  'em  on  puppus  fer  my 
luncheon,  but  there 's  sights  more  'n  I  can  eat,  an' 
you  ?re  more  'n  welcome." 

"  Thank  you.  I  'm  sure  they  're  nice,  but  I  've  just 
eaten  my  lunch." 

"  Wai,  I  c'n  save  'em  fer  Sally's  child'n."  She 
replaced  the  cake  in  her  basket  and  delved  deeper 
among  its  treasures.  "  They  '11  consait  'at  anythin' 
gran'ma  fetches  'em 's  better  'n  what  they  have  t' 
hum,  for  all  their  mother  's  jest  as  good  a  cook  as 
Jonas'  wife  is,  ef  I  that  larnt  her  du  say  it.  Sally 's 
my  darter,  an'  lives  up  tu  Manchester,  an'  I'm 
a-goin'  up  there  tu  see  her  if  I  ever  live  tu  git 
there.  Haow  these  'ere  railroads  does  go !  "  Her 
wrinkled,  russet  face  began  again  to  be  clouded 


A  SON   OF  THE  REVOLUTION  137 

with  the  anxieties  of  unaccustomed  travel.  "  You 
don't  s'pose  they  '11  fergit  tu  stop  tu  Manchester, 
duye?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  assured  her,  "  and  we  '11  hear  the 
name  called." 

"  An'  I  s'pose  this  'ere  ticket 's  all  right  ?  "  she 
asked,  submitting  it  to  his  inspection  after  a  flur- 
ried search  in  every  possible  place  of  deposit.  Hav- 
ing her  fears  quieted  on  this  point,  she  resumed 
the  exploration  of  the  basket  and  presently  brought 
out  of  it  a  big  greening,  turned  to  the  color  of  old 
gold  with  perfect  ripeness. 

"  Naow,  you  must  take  an  apple.  Anyb'dy  can 
eat  an  apple  any  time,  an'  this  'ere  's  a  rael  Rhode 
Islan'  greenion.  Gran'ther  he  fetched  the  graf's 
f'm  Rhode  Islan',  hossback,  an'  sot  'em  in  the 
orchid  on  aour  ol'  place  tu  Bennin't'n,  where  I  was 
borned  an'  brought  up,  an*  my  son  Jonas,  he  got 
the  graf's  off  them  very  same  trees  which  they  're 
a-livin'  an'  a-bearin'  yet." 

"You  were  born  in  Bennington?  Was  your 
father  or  grandfather  in  the  battle?"  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  Land  o'  massy,  yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  flush 
of  honest  pride.  "  There  was  gran'ther  an'  three  o' 
my  great  uncles  fit  tu  Bennin't'n  fight,  an'  one  'em 
was  killed  an'  another  was  waounded.  Massy  sakes, 
I  've  heered  gran'ther,  his  name  was  Joseph,  same 
as  his  father's,  Joseph  Fay ;  I  Ve  heered  him 


138  A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

tell  it  all  over,  time  an'  ag'in,  when  I  was  a  leetle 
mite  of  a  gal." 

"  My  great-grandfather  was  in  that  battle,  too," 
said  the  young  man,  with  increasing  interest. 
"  Shoulder  to  shoulder  with  your  people,  like 
enough.  Did  you  ever  hear  your  grandfather  speak 
of  a  comrade  named  Belden  —  Michael  Belden  ?  " 

"  Belden,  Belden  —  wal,  no,  I  don't  seem  to  re- 
member hearin'  tell  o'  the  name.  An'  so  your 
great-gran' ther  was  tu  Bennin't'n  fight.  Wal,  I 
say  for  't,  we  're  sort  o'  related,  you  an'  I  be,  hain't 
we  ?  "  and  the  kindly  face  beamed  a  grandmotherly 
smile  upon  him  that  warmed  the  young  man's 
heart. 

"  Waill-loom-loomsack."  A  brakeman  echoed 
his  unintelligible  call  amid  the  outer  clash  and 
roar  that  rushed  in  at  the  briefly  opened  door. 

"  Was 't  Manchester  he  hollered  ?  "  the  old  woman 
inquired,  as  she  nervously  snatched  her  various 
articles  of  baggage. 

"  No ;  it  is  Walloomsack,"  said  he,  reading  the 
name  of  the  station  as  the  train  slowed  up. 

"  Oh,  yis,  yis,  I  know,  an'  aour  folks  fit  right 
here.  Yis,  right  on  that  'ere  little  hill  over  yender 
was  where  aour  folks  woostered  the  Hessians." 

She  pointed  her  crooked  and  knotted  finger, 
tremulous  with  excitement,  to  a  low,  partially 
wooded  hill,  and  at  sight  of  the  historic  field  he 
too  was  thrilled  with  patriotic  emotion.  The  re- 


A  SON  OF  THE   REVOLUTION  139 

mainder  of  her  journey  seemed  short  to  him  as  he 
listened  to  her  anecdotes  gathered  from  her  grand- 
father, of  Revolutionary  days,  and  when  he  helped 
her  from  the  train  he  parted  from  her  as  from  an 
old  friend  who  was  drawn  to  him  by  a  closer  tie 
than  ordinary  friendship,  that  of  ancestral  blood 
offered  in  the  same  heroic  cause. 

Harry  Belden  had  perfect  health,  good  looks,  an 
ample  fortune,  a  host  of  friends,  and  had  gained 
the  heart  of  Katrina  Van  Tromp,  who  was  as  lovely 
as  she  was  high  bred  and  aristocratic.  His  own 
ancestry  was  obscure,  for  it  had  been  his  father's 
pride  during  a  busy  life  to  be  the  founder  of  a 
wealthy  and  influential  family  rather  than  the  inher- 
itor of  a  name  made  famous  by  some  dead  ancestor, 
and  Harry  barely  knew  the  Christian  name  of  the 
honest  husbandman  who  was  his  great-grandfather. 
It  was  known  that  old  Michael  Belden  fought  at 
the  battle  of  Bennington,  but  there  were  neither 
family  papers  nor  known  public  record  to  substan- 
tiate the  fact.  On  the  death  of  his  grandparents, 
their  homestead  with  all  its  belongings  had  been 
sold,  yet  Harry  Belden  was  now  on  his  way  thither, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  some  proof  of  his  ancestor's 
services  which  would  entitle  him  to  membership  in 
the  patriotic  societies,  to  which  so  many  of  his 
friends  belonged.  When  at  nightfall  he  left  the 
train  at  a  little  wayside  station  and  saw  the  miry 


140  A   SON  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

road  flanked  by  drifts  of  grimy  snow,  he  knew  he 
had  outrun  the  advance  of  spring.  Wading  through 
ankle-deep  mud  to  the  little  hotel,  he  procured  de- 
cent supper  and  lodgings. 

The  next  morning  he  found  the  well-known  title 
of  the  "  Belden  Place  "  had  become  so  nearly  obso- 
lete that  he  felt  disgust  for  the  people  that  could 
so  soon  forget  the  name  of  even  the  humblest  de- 
fender of  its  country  ;  but  having  gained  directions, 
he  set  forth  in  quest  of  Peter  Carter,  the  present 
owner.  There  was  exhilaration  in  the  clear  bracing 
air  with  a  smack  of  spring  mingled  in  its  cold  drafts 
and  in  the  crisp  response  of  the  frozen  sleigh  path 
to  his  footfalls  that  presently  brought  him  to  the 
little  gray  and  brown  house. 

He  at  once  recognized  the  humble  homestead  of 
three  generations  of  his  family,  for  his  father  had 
often  described  it.  There  it  slept  in  forgetfulness 
of  its  first  owner,  in  the  long  shadow  of  the  great 
Lombardy  poplar  he  had  set  as  a  landmark  among 
the  fertile  acres  his  hands  had  cleared  of  their  na- 
tive primeval  growth.  Close  before  it  lay  Lake 
Champlain,  waveless  and  silent  beneath  its  white 
covering  of  ice.  Here,  he  thought,  with  a  touch 
of  tender  emotion,  the  old  soldier,  tired  of  war's 
alarms,  came  to  spend  his  declining  years  among 
these  peaceful  scenes  of  the  land  whose  enemies 
he  had  helped  to  conquer.  Harry  felt  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  have  the  home  of  the  old  hero  again 


A   SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  141 

belong  to  his  family  and  he  was  formulating  an 
idea  of  repurchasing  it  as  he  entered  the  gate.  A 
swarthy  little  man  who  was  chopping  wood  in  the 
yard  ceased  his  labors  and  leaned  upon  his  axe  to 
regard  Harry  long  before  he  was  within  speaking 
distance,  and  so  continued,  till  he  was  bidden  good- 
morning  and  asked  if  Mr.  Carter  lived  there. 

"  Mawny,"  he  answered,  as  he  sharply  eyed  the 
stranger.  "Yas,  he  leeve  here.  But  prob'ly  you 
can't  sol'  it  somet'ings,  Ah  guess.  What  kan  o' 
t'ings  was  you  peddled  in  so  leetle  bag  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  peddler." 

"  Den  prob'ly  you  was  some  rellashin,  ant  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  relative." 

"Wai,"  said  the  Canadian,  scratching  his  puz- 
zled head,  "  you  ant  peddled,  you  ant  rellashin,  you 
ant  look  lak  ministy.  Ah  don'  know  me,  what  you 
want  of  it,  One'  Peter." 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  the  old  gentleman  if  he  is 
at  home." 

"  Wai,  if  you  goin'  talk  to  it,  you  got  for  holler, 
Ah  tol'  you.  He  ant  gat  very  good  hear.  Yas,  One' 
Peter  in  de  haouse,"  and  then,  as  if  satisfied  that 
one  who  came  with  no  purpose  but  to  talk  with 
an  old  Yankee  was  worthy  no  further  notice,  the 
Canadian  began  plying  his  axe  with  an  explosive 
exhalation  at  every  stroke. 

Harry  rapped  at  the  low  door.    It  was  opened 


142  A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

by  an  old  woman,  whose  wrinkled  face  was  like  an 
apple  that  baking  has  not  robbed  of  all  its  ruddi- 
ness. After  eyeing  him  closely  for  some  clue  to 
recognition,  she  ushered  him  into  a  tidy  kitchen 
wherein  lingered  a  homely  savor  of  innumerable 
batches  of  cookery.  Fortified  against  the  hurry  of 
present  days  in  its  tower  of  curled  maple,  an  old 
clock  measured  time  with  decorous  solemnity  —  a 
fine  old  relic  that  might  well  have  been  owned  by 
the  Revolutionary  hero.  Above  the  unused  fire- 
place and  the  mantel  shelf's  array  of  medicine  bot- 
tles, candlesticks,  and  phenomenal  growths  of  fields 
and  woods,  hung  an  old  flintlock,  rusty  with  time 
and  dusty  with  disuse.  It  looked  old  enough  to 
have  been  his  great-grandsire's  weapon,  and  Harry 
made  a  mental  note  of  the  possibilities.  A  bent 
old  man  sat  behind  the  stove,  leaning  on  a  staff. 
He  nodded  while  he  directed  a  vacant  stare  upon 
the  visitor  as  the  old  woman  handed  him  a  flasr- 

o 

bottomed  chair. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter?"  he  asked. 

"  Them 's  aour  names  when  we  're  tu  hum.  What 
might  yourn  be  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  am  the  son  of  Mr.  Belden,  who  sold  you  this 
place." 

"  I  wanter  know  !  "  and  repeating  the  informa- 
tion to  the  old  man,  she  drew  a  chair  before  her 
visitor,  seated  herself  and  bestowed  upon  him  a  still 
closer  scrutiny. 


A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  143 

"  I  knowed  your  father  when  he  wa'  n't  knee  high 
tu  a  grasshopper,"  said  Peter,  with  awakened  in- 
terest, "  an'  I  knowed  his  father  afore  him,  an'  his 
father,  ol'  Uncle  Michael  Belt'n.  They  say  Henry 
Belt'u  's  richer  'n  mud.  His  father  wa'  n't,  nor  yet 
his  'n,  not  no  richer  'n  we  be.  It  doos  beat  all ! 
An'  haow  's  your  father  stood  the  winter  —  tol'able 
well?" 

"  Very  well,"  said  Harry,  "  and  wished  to  be 
remembered  to  you.  You  spoke  of  my  great-grand- 
father. I  've  come  all  the  way  from  New  York  to 
find  out  what  I  could  about  him.  Did  you  ever 
hear  him  speak  of  the  battle  of  Bennington  ?  " 

"  Law,  yis,"  quavered  Peter.  "  I  remember  ol' 
Uncle  Michael  as  well  as  if  it  wa'  n't  on  'y  yist'd'y, 
a  tumble  clever  goo'-natur'd  ol'  man,  he  was,  'at 
you  'd  never  thought  o'  bein'  a  soger  an'  killin' 
folks." 

Again  young  Belden's  eyes  returned  to  the  an- 
cient musket  over  the  fireplace. 

"  Was  that  my  great-grandfather's  ?  "  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"That  'ere  old  fusee?"  Peter  asked,  his  dull 
rheumy  stare  slowly  following  Belden's  index  finger 
and  getting  an  answer  to  his  question  from  it.  "  Yes. 
Oh,  yes,  that  was  his'n." 

"  The  one  he  carried  at  Bennington  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  s'pect  mebby  't  was,"  Peter  answered, 
non-committally. 


144  A  SON   OF   THE   REVOLUTION 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  part  with  it,  for  a  consid- 
eration, I  'd  like  to  have  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Peter  deliberated.  "  I  kinder 
need  a  gun,  naow  an'  ag'in,  for  tu  ketch  a  pick'ril 
when  the  ma'sh  gits  open,  an'  shoot  crows  a-pullin' 
corn  an'  scare  away  hen  hawks.  I  do'  know 's  I  care 
'baout  sellin'  on  't  tu-day." 

"  Could  n't  you  buy  another  that  would  answer 
your  purpose  just  as  well  ?  I  'm  willing  to  pay  you 
a  good  price." 

"  Wai,  I  do'  know,"  Peter  deliberated,  trying  to 
fix  on  a  price  not  so  much  above  the  value  as  to 
frighten  his  customer  away.  "  You  see,  I  'm  sorter 
useter  the  oF  fusee.  Don't  know 's  I  c'ld  git  another 
'at  'd  suit  me  as  well  fer  the  money.  What  was 
you  cal'latin'  't  you  could  'ford  tu  pay?  " 

Harry  went  over  and  took  the  dusty,  rusty,  dirty 
old  piece  from  its  hooks,  thinking,  as  he  felt  its 
various  accumulations  on  his  hands,  that  it  might 
properly  be  called  a  fowling-piece. 

"  Just  for  shooting  purposes,  I  should  say  fifteen 
dollars  would  be  all  it  is  worth." 

Peter  had  not  dreamed  of  asking  more  than  ten 
and  the  magnificence  of  the  offer  took  his  breath 
away,  yet  when  he  recovered  speech  he  boldly  at- 
tempted to  raise  the  price. 

"  Seem's  if  I'd  ortu  hev  a  leetle  more.  I  do'  know 
as  ever  I  heard  a  gun  roar  ekel  tu  that  ol'  fusee.  I 
do'  know  but  she 's  loaded,  an'  if  she  is,  you  'd  orter 


A   SON   OF  THE   REVOLUTION  145 

'low  me  four-five  cents  more."  But  upon  examina- 
tion it  was  found  to  be  empty  of  a  charge.  "  Wai, 
s'posin'  you  call  it  sixteen." 

When  the  money  was  counted  out  without  de- 
mur, the  old  man  was  sorry  he  had  not  asked 
twenty. 

"  What  did  great-grandfather  say  about  the  bat- 
tle ?  Did  he  ever  talk  it  over  in  your  hearing  ?  " 

"  Law,  yis,  a  hundred  times,  fur  's  I  know,"  the 
garrulous  old  man  went  on  in  a  high-pitched,  quav- 
ering voice.  "  He  wan't  a  mite  bashful  abaout 
talkin'  on  *t.  Haow  they  hurried  along  through  the 
mud  to  git  there  an'  it  rained  solid  water,  an'  haow 
the  Yankees  peppered  the  Hessians  f 'm  behind  trees 
an'  fences,  an'  haow  the  In j ins  hollered  an'  run,  an' 
haow  aour  folks  licked  'em  clean  aout  twicte  an' 
took  all  'at  did  n't  run  away.  Law,  yis." 

The  young  man  instinctively  glanced  down  to  the 
left  side  of  his  coat  lapel  and  could  already  see  a 
blue  and  gold  badge  shining  there.  The  old  man 
went  on : 

"  Law,  yis,  he  did  n't  seem  a  mite  'shamed 
on  V 

"  I  should  think  not.  It  is  something  for  the 
humblest  man  that  took  part  in  it  to  be  proud  of, 
and  for  his  great-grandson  to  be  proud  of,  as  I  am." 

"Praoud  ?  I  do'  know  as  him  an'  his'n  hed  any 
gret  to  be  praoud  on." 

"  Not  one  of  our  men  failed  to  do  his  duty,  as  I 


146  A  SON   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ever  heard.  Do  you  know  if  he  was  under  General 
Stark,  or  did  he  belong  to  Warner's  Green  Moun- 
tain Boys?" 

"What  ye  sayin'?"  Peter  asked,  slowly,  with 
hollowed  palm  to  his  best  ear  and  his  toothless  jaw 
dropping  far  from  its  fellow.  When  the  question 
was  repeated  he  fell  into  a  fit  of  coughing  and 
wheezy  laughter,  so  violent  that  though  he  brand- 
ished his  cane  in  the  vain  attempt,  he  could  snatch 
no  words  out  of  it  till  his  faithful  helpmate  hobbled 
across  to  him  and  pounded  him  vigorously  on  the 
back.  At  last  he  gasped  between  coughs : 

"  Lordy,  boy,  ough-ough-ough,  I  can't  tell  ye. 
Say,  mother,  where 's  that  ough-ough  'ere  paper  'at 
you  faoun'  a-cleanin'  aout  the  upstairs  cubberd  ?  " 

"  I  kep'  it,"  she  answered.  "  It 's  safe  in  the  top 
draw'  o'  the  chist." 

"  Wai,  fetch  it  an'  let  him  see  it.  He  c'n  hev  it 
if  he  wants  it.  It 's  a  kinder  cur'osity." 

Harry  thought  that  here  might  be  the  positive 
proof  he  desired,  or  at  least  a  valuable  relic  of  his 
ancestor.  Susan  disappeared  in  jerky  rheumatic 
haste  and  soon  returned  with  a  scrap  of  coarse, 
time-tinted  paper,  which  she  handed  to  the  young 
man.  He  slowly  deciphered  the  faded  yet  bold  and 
handsome  writing  inscribed  on  it.  Then  he  closely 
examined  the  paper  until  fully  convinced  of  its 
authenticity  and  official  origin,  then  placed  it  care- 
fully in  an  inner  pocket. 


A  SON  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  147 

The  next  morning,  as  the  rushing  train  swept 
Harry  Belden  past  the  budding  trees  of  the  old 
battlefield,  the  sight  aroused  no  thrill  of  pride,  and 
he  thought  with  mortification  of  the  dear  old  woman, 
unassuming  and  modest  about  the  glorious  deeds 
of  her  ancestor  and  his  noble  brothers  on  that 
Walloomsack  hillside.  When  back  among  green 
fields  and  the  genial  air  of  established  spring  and  the 
hum  of  the  city's  bustle,  he  could  but  contrast  the 
hopefulness  wherewith  he  so  lately  went  forth  with 
the  disappointment  of  his  return.  He  speculated 
upon  the  effect  the  unforeseen  results  of  his  re- 
search might  have  upon  the  proud  Katrina  who 
traced  her  line  of  ancestry  on  one  side  back  to  a 
colonel  in  the  Continental  Army  and  on  the  other  to 
a  general  commanding  a  fort  on  the  Hudson.  He 
harbored  no  thought  of  concealment,  however,  and 
believed  her  love  would  be  stronger  than  her  pride. 

"  And  what  did  you  learn  of  the  old  hero  ?  "  she 
asked  that  evening  after  the  first  greetings. 

"  I  learned,"  said  he  slowly,  handing  her  the 
scrap  of  paper,  "  that  my  great-grandfather  was  in 
the  battle  of  Bennington.  There  is  the  proof." 

Katrina  unfolded  the  time-stained  paper  and  with 
swift  changing  color  flashing  and  fading  on  her 
face,  read  the  words : 

In  Council  of  Safety,  27  Septera'r,  1777. 

This  is  to  Sartify  that  Michael  Belten,  a  Hes- 
sian Soldier,  deserter  from  Col.  Baum's  his  Force, 


148  A  SON   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

is  this  Day  parmitted  to  Pass  beyond  Otter  Crik, 
to  remain  until  further  Orders  of  this  Council.  He 
behaving  as  Becometh. 

JOSEPH  FAY,  Sec'y. 

P.  S.  Was  in  Bennington  Battle  ;  has  Taken 
the  Oath  of  Fidellity  to  the  United  States. 

"  Well,"  said  Katrina,  slowly,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  if  he  was  in  arms  against  us,  he  could  not  4  serve 
our  country '  better  than  by  abandoning  its 
enemies." 

Harry  Belden  took  the  first  opportunity  to  clean 
his  newly  acquired  relic.  Although  it  fell  so  far 
short  of  what  he  supposed  it  to  be,  he  could  but 
prize  it  as  a  possession  of  his  great-grandfather  and 
a  substantial  memento  of  a  famous  battle. 

"  It 's  a  queer  old  weapon,  anyhow,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  rubbed  away  the  accumulations  of 
grease  and  dust  from  the  barrel  and  stock  and 
clumsy  barrel  lock.  "  It 's  a  relic  of  the  battle 
anyway.  There  must  be  some  marks  if  I  can  ever 
get  down  to  them.  Hello.  Here  are  letters,"  and 
he  read  on  the  lock : 

"Springfield,  U.S.,  1820." 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

ONE  day  in  the  latter  part  of  February,  Asahel 
Peck  was  observed  to  be  abroad  on  horseback  ;  for, 
owing  to  a  recent  thaw,  sleighing  was  bad,  and 
wheeling  worse.  Those  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
town  house  saw  him  alight  in  front  of  that  ancient 
and  variously  used  structure  and  nail  a  paper  to 
the  battered  and  punctured  door.  It  read  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

MARCH  MEETING 

These  are  to  notify  and  to  warn  all  the  Inhabitants  of 
this  Town  who  are  legal  Voters  in  Town  Meeting  to 
meet  at  the  Town  House  on  the  first  Tuesday  in  March 
the  3rd  (proximo)  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  to 
transact  business,  viz. 

1st  to  choose  a  moderator  to  Govern  said  meeting, 
2nd  a  town  clerk,  3rd,  three  or  more  persons  to  be  Select 
men,  Also  Over  Seeors  of  the  poor,  a  Town  Treasurer, 
Three  or  more  Listers,  a  constable  and  Collector  of 
Town  rates  or  taxes,  Grand  and  petit  jurors,  One  or 
more  Grand  Jurymen  for  the  town,  Surveyors  of  the 
Highways,  Fence  viewers,  pound  keepers,  Sealers  of 
weights  and  measures,  Sealers  of  Leather,  also  one  or 
more  tything  men  and  hay  wards.  Also  a  committee  to 
Settle  with  the  Overseeors  of  the  Poor,  also  a  Commit- 


150         AN   OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

tee  to  settle  with  the  Treasurer  and  report  the  state  of 
the  Treasury,  a  Superintending  committee  for  schools, 
also  to  consider  of  the  Propriety  of  adjoining  Uriah 
Cruttenden's  Farm  to  the  School  District  known  by  the 
name  of  the  New  District  and  lastly  to  vote  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  the  Town  the  Current  year. 

ASAHEL  PECK        \ 

T  __  f  Select 

JONATHAN  YOUNG  > 


~  TT  V  men. 

SEYMOUR  HAYS      ) 


Feby  18,  184-.1 


But  few  persons  troubled  themselves  to  read 
what  could  more  easily  be  heard  for  only  twelve 
days'  waiting ;  and,  moreover,  every  proposed 
measure  of  importance  had  been  a  subject  for  dis- 
cussion at  Hamner's  tavern,  the  store,  the  black- 
smith's shop,  the  shoemaker's,  and  the  mill,  as  also 
at  the  town  house  itself,  on  several  Sundays,  before 
and  after  the  services,  held  there  alternately  by  the 
Methodists  and  Congregationalists  :  so  that  saints 
and  sinners  were  already  informed. 

The  days  went  by  in  sunshine  and  south  wind. 
On  the  appointed  day  many  voters  came  of  choice 
on  foot,  across  fields  bare  of  snow  but  for  drifts 
still  enduring  along  the  fences,  while  others  jolted 
in  wagons  over  the  rutted  main  highways,  superfi- 
cially dried,  rough-cast  memorials  of  former  diffi- 
cult travel,  one  wind-swept  mile  of  it  now  yielding 
dust  enough  for  the  ransom  of  a  whole  tribe  of 

1  Copied  from  a  Ferrisburgh  Warning  for  Town  Meeting. 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          151 

Israel.  Others  came  floundering  and  splashing 
along  the  crossroads,  which  were  narrow  lanes  of 
mud  between  banks  of  snow  sullied  with  the  blown 
dust  of  ploughed  land  and  muddy  tracks  of  men 
and  dogs.  Overhead,  straggling  flocks  of  return- 
ing crows  drove  northward  through  their  broad, 
clean,  aerial  thoroughfare.  All  terrestrial  travelers 
tended,  by  different  routes,  toward  the  town  house. 
Rows  of  horses  lengthened  along  the  neighboring 
fences.  Freemen  of  all  ages,  from  those  newly  as- 
suming the  responsibilities  of  voting  and  the  bur- 
den of  taxation  to  those  beyond  the  demand  of  a 
poll  tax,  swarmed  in  at  the  door.  There  was  a  con- 
siderable attendance  of  boys,  to  whom  the  bustle 
inside  was  more  novel  and  attractive  than  the  fee- 
ble beginning  of  a  game  of  ball  outside. 

The  town  house  was  an  unpainted,  weather- 
beaten,  clapboarded  building  of  one  story,  with 
one  rough,  plastered  room,  furnished  with  rows  of 
pine  seats,  originally  severely  plain,  but  now  pro- 
fusely ornamented  with  carved  initials,  dates,  and 
strange  devices.  A  desk  and  seat  on  a  platform  at 
the  farther  end,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  town 
officers,  and  a  huge  box  stove,  so  old  and  rusty 
that  it  seemed  more  like  the  direct  product  of  a 
mine  than  of  a  furnace,  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room,  wherein  were  now  gathered  a  majority 
of  the  male  inhabitants  of  the  town.  Its  fathers, 
maintaining  the  dignity  of  office  in  stiff,  high  shirt 


152          AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

collars  and  bell-crowned  hats,  were  grouped  behind 
the  desk,  planning  in  semi-privacy  the  business  of 
the  day,  while  some  self-appointed  guardians  of  the 
public  weal  stood  near,  craning  their  necks  and 
cocking  their  ears  to  catch  scattered  crumbs  of  the 
wise  discourse.  Old  acquaintances  from  the  far- 
thest opposite  corners  of  the  township,  who  rarely 
met  but  on  such  occasions,  exchanged  greetings 
and  neighborhood  gossip.  Hunters  and  trappers 
recounted  their  exploits  to  one  another  and  an  in- 
terested audience  of  boys.  Invalids  enjoyed  their 
poor  health  to  the  utmost  in  the  relation  of  its 
minutest  details.  Pairs  of  rough  jokers  were  the 
centres  of  applauding  groups,  while  other  pairs 
exchanged  experiences  in  the  wintering  of  stock  or 
discussed  weather  probabilities.  From  all  arose  a 
babble  of  voices,  the  silentest  persons  present  being 
two  or  three  of  the  town's  poor,  who  had  come  to 
get  the  earliest  intelligence  of  their  disposal. 

"  Wai,  I  cal'late  we  're  goin'  tu  git  an  airly 
spring,"  said  one  of  a  knot  of  elderly  men  and 
middle-aged  wiseacres.  "  When  the  oP  bear  come 
aout  he  did  n't  see  no  shadder." 

"What,  the  twenty-sixt'  o'  Febwary?"  one  of 
the  latter  chuckled.  "  Why,  good  land  o'  massy, 
the  sun  was  er-shinin'  jest  as  bright  as  'tis  to- 
day!" 

"  The  twenty-sixt'  hain't  the  day !  It 's  the  see- 
on  t,  an'  it  snowed  all  day !  " 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          153 

"  Sho  !  It 's  the  twenty-sixty  the  other  asserted. 
"  Ev'ybody  knows  that  'at  knows  anythin'  abaout 
signs." 

"  Wai,  I  know  it 's  the  secont." 

"  No,  't  ain't  nuther  !  " 

"Tistuther!" 

"Wai,"  drawled  big  John  Dart,  "s'posin'  the' 
wa'n't  no  bear  ary  day?  What  then  ?  " 

"  What  ye  think  o'  this  fur  a  sign  ?  "  a  tall  new- 
comer asked,  pushing  his  way  into  the  group,  care- 
fully holding  in  his  hand  a  red  and  yellow  cotton 
handkerchief,  gathered  at  its  corners,  which  he  now 
unfolded,  displaying  three  full-grown  grasshoppers, 
not  very  active,  but  unmistakably  alive.  "  There  ! 
I  picked  them  up  as  I  come  across  lots.  What  ye 
think  o' that?" 

There  was  a  general  expression  of  wonder,  and 
Dart  exclaimed,  after  a  critical  examination  of  the 
insects,  "  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !  Ef  the  grass- 
hoppers is  all  ready  tu  transack  business  as  soon  's 
the  snow 's  off  'n  the  graound,'  it  won't  make  no  odds 
tu  us  if  we  du  hev  an  airly  spring.  They  '11  eat 
ev'ry  identical  thing  as  soon  as  it  starts." 

"  Wai,  I  swanny,  Billy  Williams 's  dressed  up 
consid'able  scrumptious  fer  taown  meetin',"  the 
discoverer  of  the  grasshoppers  remarked  irrelev- 
antly, after  a  careful  survey  of  the  dignitaries 
grouped  behind  the  desk.  "  S'pose  he  cal'lates  he 's 
goin'  tu  rep'sent  the  taown  next  fall?" 


154          AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

"  Oh  yes.  It  would  n't  be  usin'  on  him  well  tu  let 
him  die  a  ye'rlin',"  another  responded. 

"  I  do'  know  's  we  're  'bleeged  tu  send  him  on 
that  accaount,"  the  first  speaker  said.  "  We  don't 
send  folks  tu  Montpelier  fur  their  health,  but  fur 
aour  benefit.  I  never  hear'd  o'  his  duin'  anythin' 
gret  whilst  he  was  up  there." 

"  I  wonder  'f  he  ever  delivered  the  speech  up 
there  't  he  prepared,"  a  farmer  asked,  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  inquiring  faces  were  turned 
toward  him. 

"  You  never  hear'd  on  't  ?  Wai,  I  tell  ye  't  was  a 
buster.  Tom  Hamlin  hear'd  him  a-practicin'  of  it 
one  day  when  he  went  there  on  some  errant  tu 
Billy,  an'  the  women  folks  sent  him  aout  tu  the 
barn  tu  find  him ;  an'  he  hear'd  him  a-talkin'  turri- 
ble  airnest  on  the  barn  floor,  an'  so  he  peeked 
through  a  crack  o'  the  door  tu  see  who  he  was  a- 
talkin'  tu,  an'  there  stood  Billy  wi'  a  paper  in  his 
hand,  a-motionin'  of  it  aout,  an'  nob'dy  nor  nuthin' 
afore  him  but  an  ol'  poll  ram  a-stan'in'  back  in  the 
furder  eend.  '  Mister  Speaker,'  says  Billy,  '  I  rise 
tu  make  a  motion,' — then,  as  he  turned  araound 
tu  git  the  light  on  his  paper,  the  ol'  ram  let  drive 
at  him  an'  knocked  him  a-sprawlin'  clean  acrost  the 
barn  floor.  Tom  cal'lated  Billy  hed  made  his  mo- 
tion." 

"  Ruther  more  of  a  turnaout  'n  the'  was  tu  the  fust 
taown  meetin'  'at  I  went  tu  in  this  taown,"  Gran'- 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          155 

ther  Hill  remarked  to  an  old  man  who  sat  beside 
him,  looking  nearly  his  own  age,  but  whose  simple, 
almost  childlike  features  were  in  marked  contrast 
to  the  strong,  grim  visage  of  the  veteran  ranger. 

"  I  s'pose  likely,"  responded  the  other,  glancing 
vaguely  around.  "  I  wa  'n't  there." 

"  Ef  you  was,  you  hed  n't  no  business  there,  fur 
you  wa  'n't  much  more  'n  borned,"  said  Gran'ther 
Hill.  "  No,  sir,  the'  hain't  a  livin'  man  here  but 
me  'at  was  tu  it." 

"  I  s'pose  there  wa  'n't  a  turrible  sight  on  ye  ?  " 
his  companion  suggested. 

"  Not  over  twenty  on  us,  all  told ;  an'  we  hel'  it 
in  a  log  barn  'at  stood  t'  other  side  o'  the  river,  on 
Moses  Benham's  pitch,  an'  we  sot  raound  on  the  log 
mangers,  an'  the  clark  writ  on  the  head  of  a  potash 
berril.  We  hed  n't  no  sech  fix-uppances  as  these 
'ere,"  pounding  the  seat  with  his  fist ;  "  an'  as  fur 
that  'ere,"  punching  the  stove  with  his  cane,  "  we 
jest  stomped  raound  tu  keep  warm,  an'  did  n't  fool 
away  much  time  no  longer  'n  we  was  'bleeged  tu." 

"I  s'pose  you  git  your  pension  right  along,  reg'- 
lar  ?  "  the  younger  old  man  asked. 

"  Sartainly ;  it  comes  as  sure  as  death  an'  taxes," 
said  Gran'ther  Hill.  "An'  what  in  blazes  is  the 
reason  you  don't  git  yourn?" 

"  Wai,  ye  see,"  said  the  other,  "  they  claim  'at 
they  can't  find  the  roll  o'  my  comp'ny,  daown  there 
tu  Wash'n'ton,  —  Comp'ny  B,  'Leventh  Regiment, 


156          AN   OLD-TIME   MARCH   MEETING 

—  but  they  say  they  can't  find  hide  ner  hair  on  't ; 
an'  my  discharge,  that  got  burnt  up  'long  wi'  all  I 
hed,  time  o'  the  fire :  so  here  I  be,  on  the  taown." 
The  old  man  smiled  in  feeble  resignation. 

"  It 's  a  damned  shame,  an'  you  'd  ortu  hev  your 
pension,"  Gran'ther  Hill  declared. 

"  Sarved  him  right  fur  bein'  sech  a  plaguy  fool," 
said  a  hard-featured  man  standing  near,  speaking 
not  to  the  two  old  men,  but  for  their  hearing,  as  he 
explained  to  those  about  him  :  "  He  went  'n  under 
his  bed,  when  the  haouse  was  afire,  an'  got  a  peck 
o'  wa'nuts  't  he  'd  fetched  up  f 'm  the  Lake  an'  left 
his  chist  wi'  all  his  papers  in  't  tu  burn  up.  Yis,  an' 
a  bran'-new  pair  o'  calfskin  boots." 

"  I  s'pose  I  kinder  lost  my  head,"  the  old  soldier 
said  apologetically,  and  still  striving  to  smile  in 
spite  of  a  quivering  of  his  chin ;  "  an'  the  wa'nuts, 
I  fetched  'em  a-purpose  fur  my  tew  leetle  gran'- 
childern ;  an'  I  do'  know  's  I  'm  sorry  'at  I  saved 
'em,  fur  they  died  wi'  canker  rash,  both  on  'em, 
next  spring,  an'  the  loss  on'  em  jest  killed  their 
mother,  an  he  married  agin  an'  went  off  West,  an' 
here  I  be.  The'  was  one  leetle  chap  'at  lived,  but 
he  was  tew  leetle  tu  remember  me,  an'  they 
would  n't  never  tell  him  nothin'  'baout  his  ol'  gran'- 
ther,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sigh  and  a 
more  pathetic  smile. 

"  Lost  his  head !  "  the  hard-faced  man  sneered. 
"  An  almighty  loss  that  must  ha'  ben  !  " 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          157 

Certain  inarticulate  sounds  issued  from  Gran'ther 
Hill's  toothless  jaws,  accompanied  by  a  nervous 
handling  of  his  staff,  which  indicated  a  rising  storm 
that  his  companion  at  once  strove  to  prevent,  whis- 
pering anxiously  into  the  veteran's  ear,  from  which 
a  tuft  of  grizzled  hair  bristled  like  an  abatis :  — 

"  Don't  fur  massy's  sake  say  nothin'  tu  mad  him, 
Cap'n  Hill.  He  's  a-goin'  tu  run  fur  poormarster, 
an'  if  he  don't  git  it  he 's  a-goin'  tu  bid  for  aour 
keepin'.  If  he  gits  a  spite  agin  me,  he  '11  gi'  me 
gowdy.  Don't  say  nothin'." 

Thus  admonished,  Gran'ther  Hill  corked  the 
vials  of  his  wrath,  and  contented  himself  with  glow- 
ering savagely  on  its  intended  object  and  offering 
consolation  to  his  friend. 

"  You  need  n't  be  'shamed  on  't,  Eos  'il,  Misfor- 
tin  hain't  no  disgrace  tu  a  man  'at  's  fit  in  the  'Lev- 
enth  agin  the  British  tu  Chippewa  an'  that  what- 
you-call-him's  Lane.  The  disgrace  is  fur  them  'at 
hain't  no  respect  fur  sech  duin's.  What  ye  s'pose 
I'd  care  'f  I  was  on  the  taown?  By  the  Lord 
Harry,  I  'd  tell  'em  't  was  an  honor  tu  any  taown 
tu  hev  a  man  on  it  'at  took  Ticonderogue,  an'  was 
tu  Hubbar't'n  an'  Bennin'ton  !  The  country  's  goin' 
tu  the  divil,  it 's  a-gittin'  so  corrtip',  an'  we  '11  all 
be  on  the  taown  in  a  heap  in  less  'n  twenty  year, 
wi'  the  people's  money  bein'  flung  right  an'  left.  I 
hear  'em  a-talkin'  o'  hevin'  ruffs  over  some  o'  the 
bridges.  Lord  Harry,  what  next?" 


158          AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas ! "  exclaimed  the  good- 
natured-looking  shoemaker,  who  had  just  taken  a 
seat  near  the  veterans.  "  'T  ain't  more  'n  what 
we  're  all  lierble  tu.  'T  ain't  many  year  sen'  the 
constable  useter  warn  ev'ry  man  jack  of  a  newcomer 
tu  clear  aout  lest  he  come  on  t'  the  taown.  There 
was  ol*  Mister  Van  Brunt,  'at  lived  tu  New  York 
when  he  was  tu  hum,  'at  owned  more  'n  tew  thaou- 
san'  acres  here,  come  up  an'  stayed  quite  a  spell ; 
an'  so  the  constable,  he  up  an'  warned  him  aout  o' 
the  taown.  Van  Brunt,  says  he  tu  him,  '  You  go 
an'  ask  the  selec'men  what  they  '11  take  fur  this 
mis'able  leetle  insi'nificant  taown,  an'  I  '11  buy  the 
hul  on  't.' " 

"  I  tell  ye,  it  don't  signify,  Ros'il  Adams,"  Gran'- 
ther  Hill  began,  when  reminiscences  and  prophecies 
were  cut  short  by  the  clerk's  calling  the  meeting 
to  order. 

Comparative  quiet  fell  upon  the  assembly,  that 
was  for  a  few  moments  thridded  by  the  thin,  whin- 
ing voice  of  one  of  the  invalids,  who  had  not  com- 
pleted the  details  of  his  last  bad  spell.  The  clerk 
then  read  the  warning  that  had  been  taken  from 
the  door,  and  announced  the  first  business  to  be  the 
choice  of  a  moderator.  Thereupon  Squire  Waite 
was  nominated,  and  being  unanimously  elected,  took 
his  place  beside  the  clerk  behind  the  desk.  He  was 
a  tall,  portly  old  man,  whose  venerable  presence 
was  somewhat  impaired  by  a  curly  chestnut  wig. 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          159 

With  a  voice  deep  and  strong  enough  to  have  out- 
borne  the  clamor  of  many  ordinary  ones,  he  ad- 
dressed his  assembled  townsmen :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  the  next  business  afore  the  meetin' 
is  to  choose  a  town  dark.  Please  nomernate  some 
one  so  to  sarve  you." 

"  I  nomernate  the  experienced  an'  deficient  pres- 
ent incumberent,  Joel  Bartlett ! "  cried  Solon 
Briggs,  and  the  nomination  was  quickly  seconded. 

"  Joel  Bartlett  is  nomernated  and  seconted," 
thundered  the  moderator.  "  You  'at  's  in  favor  of 
him  a-sarvin'  of  you  as  town  clark,  say  '  Aye.' ' 

There  was  a  loud  affirmative  response,  and  when 
the  squire  called,  "  Contrary-minded,  say  '  No,' ' 
only  Beri  Burton  answered,  though  he  endeavored 
to  make  the  noise  of  a  majority. 

"  Gentlemen,  the  Ayes  appear  to  hev  it,  and  you 
hev  made  ch'ice  of  Joel  Bartlett  to  sarve  you  as 
clark  fur  the  ensuin'  year." 

The  reflected  officer  pursed  his  lips  to  their 
roundest  and  set  himself  to  record  the  proceedings 
of  the  meeting ;  his  choice  of  implements  being  di- 
vided between  a  sputtering  quill  pen  and  a  lead 
pencil  so  bard  that  its  only  mark  upon  the  paper, 
unless  frequently  moistened,  was  a  deep  corruga- 
tion. The  arrangement  of  his  lips  seemed  espe- 
cially adapted  to  the  moistening  process. 

"  The  next  business  in  order,"  the  moderator  de- 
clared, after  studying  the  warning,  "  is  tu  choose 


160          AN  OLD-TIME   MARCH   MEETING 

three,  four,  or  five  selec'men.    Haow  many  is  it 
your  pleasure  tu  hev?" 

It  was  decided  that  there  should  be  three,  and 
two  separate  nominations  and  elections  followed. 
According  to  the  usual  and  wise  custom,  the  first 
member  of  the  old  board  was  retired,  the  second 
elected  to  his  place,  the  third  to  the  second  place, 
and  a  new  man  to  the  third  place,  for  which  there 
were  three  candidates,  each  with  so  considerable  a 
following  that  a  ballot  was  called  for  by  three  or 
more  voters,  and  a  spirited  contest  ensued.  The 
readiest  writers  scribbled  the  names  of  their  candi- 
dates on  whatever  scraps  of  paper  came  to  hand, 
which  were  then  cut  into  slips  with  jack-knives. 
These  ballots  were  distributed  to  the  eager  voters 
who  crowded  around  each  writer,  or  were  urged 
upon  the  wavering  and  indifferent.  Each,  when  so 
provided,  pushed  into  the  swarming  aisle  and  strug- 
gled forward,  as  if  the  fate  of  the  nation  depended 
on  the  immediate  deposit  of  his  ballot  in  the  con- 
stable's bell-crowned  hat,  which  was  now. devoted 
to  this  sacred  service  under  the  vigilant  guardian- 
ship of  its  owner.  Here,  a  tall,  strong  man  forced 
a  passage  through  the  crowd,  with  some  smaller, 
weaker  men  following  easily  in  his  wake.  There,  a 
small  man,  nearly  overwhelmed,  almost  within  reach 
of  the  voting  place,  held  his  ballot  at  arm's  length 
above  his  head,  like  a  craft,  foundering  within  sight 
of  port,  flying  a  signal  of  distress.  Having  cast 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          161 

their  votes,  some  got  out  of  the  press  as  quickly 
as  possible,  while  others  clung  about  the  voting 
place,  curious  to  see  the  last  ballot  dropped  into 
the  hat  and  to  watch  the  counting. 

44  Gentlemen,  are  your  votes  all  in  ?  "  called  the 
moderator. 

No  one  responded  during  the  five  minutes  of 
grace,  and  at  their  expiration  the  improvised  ballot 
box  was  emptied  on  the  desk.  The  counting  began, 
by  the  clerk  and  the  constable,  while  the  hum  of 
conversation  again  arose,  continuing  until  the  re- 
sult of  the  ballot  was  announced.  The  rival  candi- 
dates strove  to  hide  their  different  emotions  under 
the  mask  of  unconcern,  and  their  adherents  soon 
forgot  the  brief  contest  in  the  strife  for  a  board  of 
listers  and  other  important  officers. 

The  old  treasurer,  who  had  through  many  years' 
service  proved  faithful  to  his  charge,  was  continued 
as  custodian  of  the  town  money,  kept  for  the  most 
part  in  a  canvas  shot  bag  conspicuously  marked 
44  B.  B.  Twenty-four  Ibs. ;  "  and  no  one  underbidding 
the  old  collector's  offer  to  collect  the  tax  for  two 
per  cent,  thereof,  he  was  unanimously  reflected  to 
the  dual  office  of  constable  and  collector. 

When  it  was  voted  that  the  selectmen  should  be 
overseers  of  the  poor,  Roswell  Adams  was  greatly 
relieved  of  his  anxiety,  for  he  felt  sure  that  at  least 
two  of  the  board  were  men  who  would  have  con- 
sideration for  an  unfortunate  old  soldier,  and  he 


162          AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

entered  quite  heartily  into  the  humor  of  some  of 
the  minor  elections. 

Eeuben  Black,  a  blind  man,  was  nominated  for 
fence  viewer,  and  came  near  being  elected. 

"  You  might  ha'  done  wus  'n  tu  elec'  me,"  said 
Keuben,  "  for  I  c'n  smell  aout  a  new  fence  an'  feel 
aout  a  lawful  one,  an'  du  it  in  the  darkest  night 
jes'  's  well  as  in  daylight,  an'  thet  's  more  'n  most 
on  'em  c'n  du." 

John  Dart,  whose  gigantic  frame  was  supported 
by  a  more  than  ample  foundation,  nominated  the 
shoemaker  for  inspector  of  leather,  an  office  with- 
out duties  or  emoluments,  and  he  was  unanimously 
elected. 

"  Ef  I  make  an'  mend  your  boots,  John  Dart,  I 
cal'late  I  '11  handle  the  heft  o'  the  luther  in  Dan- 
vis  !  "  he  roared,  in  a  voice  that  excited  the  envy  of 
the  moderator. 

It  was  a  common  custom  in  Vermont,  in  the  first 
half  of  this  century,  to  permit  all  kinds  of  stock  to 
run  at  large  in  the  highways,  which  made  it  neces- 
sary to  appoint  several  poundkeepers,  and  as  many 
haywards,  or  hog-howards,  as  they  were  commonly 
called,  whose  duty  was  to  keep  road-ranging  swine 
within  the  limits  of  the  highways.  Six  pound- 
keepers  were  now  elected,  and  their  barnyards 
constituted  pounds.  There  was  a  merry  custom,  of 
ancient  usage,  of  electing  the  most  recently  mar- 
ried widower  to  the  office  of  hay  ward,  and  it  then 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING         163 

chanced  that  Parson  Nehemiah  Doty,  the  worthy 
pastor  of  the  Congregationalists,  had  been  but  a 
fortnight  married  to  his  second  wife.  So  an  irrever- 
ent member  of  his  own  flock  nominated  him  for 
hayward.  The  nomination  was  warmly  seconded, 
and  he  was  almost  unanimously  elected,  even  the 
deacons  responding  very  faintly  when  the  negative 
vote  was  called ;  for  the  parson  was  a  man  of  caus- 
tic humor,  and  each  of  its  many  victims  realized 
that  this  was  a  rare  opportunity  for  retaliation. 
Laughter  and  applause  subsided  to  decorous  silence 
when  the  venerable  man  arose  to  acknowledge  the 
doubtful  honor  which  had  been  conferred  upon 
him  ;  and  he  spoke  in  the  solemn  and  measured 
tones  that  marked  the  delivery  of  his  sermons,  but 
the  clerical  austerity  of  his  face  was  lightened  a 
little  by  a  twinkle  of  his  cold  gray  eyes :  — 

"Mr.  Moderator  and  fellow  townsmen,  in  the 
more  than  a  score  of  years  that  I  have  labored 
among  you,  I  have  endeavored  faithfully  to  perform, 
so  far  as  in  me  lay,  the  duties  of  a  shepherd :  to 
keep  within  the  fold  the  sheep  which  were  com- 
mitted to  my  care,  to  watch  vigilantly  that  none 
strayed  from  it,  and  to  be  the  humble  means  of 
leading  some  into  its  shelter.  Thus  while  you  were 
my  sheep  I  have  acted  as  your  shepherd,  but  since 
you  are  no  longer  sheep  I  will  endeavor  to  perform 
as  faithfully  the  office  of  your  hayward." 

"Wai,  haow  is  't?"  John  Dart  inquired  of  the 


164         AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH   MEETING 

nominator.  "  Hev  ye  got  much  the  start  o'  the  par- 
son ?  Or  hev  ye  ?  " 

When  every  office  of  the  town  had  been  filled,  a 
tax  of  eight  per  cent,  on  the  grand  list  was  voted, 
after  violent  opposition  by  a  considerable  minority 
of  economists.  Then  a  sharp-featured  man,  who 
had  for  some  time  awaited  the  opportunity,  perched 
on  the  edge  of  his  seat  like  some  ungainly  bird 
about  to  take  flight,  arose  and  spoke :  — 

"  Mr.  Moderator,  it 's  my  'pinion,  an'  I  guess 
't  is  most  everybody's  else's,  'at  we  ben  a-payin'  aout 
more  money  fur  taown  'xpenses  'an  we  ortu,  in 
p'rtic'lar  fur  keepin'  aour  porpers.  You  look  a'  one 
item,  —  fifty  dollars  fur  keepin'  the  Bassett  boy ! 
Fifty  dollars  fur  keepin'-  of  a  idjit,  —  as  much  as 't 
would  ha'  cost  tu  ha'  wintered  tew  yoke  o'  oxen, 
pooty  nigh !  Why,  it 's  ridic'lous !  "  He  paused  to 
give  his  audience  time  to  consider  the  extravagant 
cost  of  supporting  the  Bassett  boy,  who  had  been  a 
town  charge  for  many  years,  yet  by  title,  at  least, 
seemed  possessed  of  perennial  youth,  having  been 
designated  in  the  town  reports  for  forty  years  as 
"  the  Bassett  boy."  "  Course  we  wanter  du  what 's 
right  an'  proper  by  aour  porpers,  but  we  don't 
wanter  par  in  per  'em,  an'  we  got  tu  be  equinomercal. 
Naow  what  I  was  a-goin'  tu  say  is  'at  we  hev  some- 
times heretobefore  let  aout  the  keepin'  of  aour  poor 
to  the  lowest  bidder,  an'  it  hes  been  quite  a  savin' 
tu  the  taown  ;  an'  considerin'  haow  hefty  aour  ex- 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          165 

penses  hes  ben  durin'  the  past  year,  we  might  du 
wus,  'an  tu  try  it  agin." 

As  Squire  Hard  parted  his  coat  tails  and  re- 
sumed his  perch  on  the  edge  of  the  seat,  another 
thrifty  townsman  arose  to  say,  "  I  think  the  idee  's 
a  good  one,  an'  if  the  gentleman  '11  put  it  in  the 
shape  of  a  motion,  I  '11  secont  it." 

Thereupon  the  squire  got  up  such  a  little  way 
and  for  such  a  little  while  that  he  began  at  once  to 
part  his  coat-tails  while  he  said,  "  I  move  'at  the 
s'lec'men  let  aout  the  keepin'of  the  taown  poor  tu 
the  lowest  bidder,"  which  was  immediately  seconded. 

Yet  before  it  could  be  put  to  vote  a  few  made 
earnest  protest  against  this  barbarous  but  then  not 
uncommon  custom.  The  veteran  of  Ticonderoga  got 
upon  his  feet  with  alacrity,  and  commanded  atten- 
tion with  vigorous  thumps  of  his  staff  as  much  as 
by  his  imperative  voice,  shaken  and  cracked  by  the 
heat  of  his  indignation. 

"  Mr.  Moderator,  is  the  voters  o'  this  'ere  taown 
white  folks,  or  be  they  a  pack  o'  damned  heath- 
erns  ?  " 

"  Order  !  Order !  "  the  moderator  thundered. 

"  I  did  n't  say  they  was  damned,  but  they  will  be 
if  they  don't  quit  sech  cussedness.  A-biddin'  off 
the  poor  tu  vandew  is  a  cussed  shame  !  I  don't 
keer  whether  they  be  God's  poor  or  the  divil's  poor, 
or  poor  divils.  'T  'ould  be  humaner  tu  fat  'em  up 
an'  boocher  'em  fur  the'  taller  'an  what  it  'ould  be 


166         AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

to  starve  'em  the  way  they  will  be.  Yes,  by  a 
damned  sight !  " 

Again  Squire  Waite  thundered,  "  Order !  Or- 
der !  We  must  hev  order  !  "  while  Gran'ther  Hill 
continued,  "  You  need  n't  take  no  pride  in  what  I 
say,  Square  Waite,  but  I  swear  I  will  hev  vent,  an' 
I  do'  know  but  I  've  hed  all  I  kin  'thaout  hittin' 
someb'dy,"  and  he  sat  down,  still  snorting  and 
growling. 

His  phlegmatic  son  declared,  "  It  did  n't  some- 
haow  sca'cely  seem  Christian  duin's  fur  tu  bid  off 
humern  white  folks." 

"  The  heft  of  aour  poor  aire  in  no  ways  tu  blame 
fur  bein'  where  they  be,  an'  we  'd  better  skimp 
some'eres  else !  "  shouted  the  shoemaker. 

"  Gol  dum  th'  poor  tax !  "  mumbled  Beri  Burton. 
"  Give  'em  puddin'  an'  milk  the  year  raoun',  I  say. 
Gol  dum  the  poor  tax !  " 

Before  this  many  of  the  voters  had  dispersed, 
thinking  all  important  business  had  been  done,  and 
others  were  impatient  to  get  home  by  chore  time, 
which  was  close  at  hand,  as  the  waning  afternoon 
admonished  them:  so  that  when  the  motion  was 
put  to  vote,  it  was  passed  by  a  large  majority. 
Then  the  first  selectman  announced  that  "  bids  for 
the  support  of  our  town's  poor  would  now  be  re- 
ceived," while  the  old  soldier  of  1812  and  his  fellow 
paupers  awaited  the  degree  of  misery  to  which  they 
should  be  consigned. 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING          167 

One  of  the  minority,  whose  plump,  good-humored 
face  gave  proof  that  no  living  thing  would  suffer 
under  his  care,  bid  a  little  below  the  last  year's  cost. 
The  anxious  faces  of  the  paupers  brightened  during 
the  pause  that  succeeded  this  offer;  but  it  only 
lasted  while  Peter  Flint,  the  late  reviler  of  the  old 
soldier,  after  a  brief  mental  computation,  made  a 
lower  bid;  and  then  another  competitor  entered 
the  lists,  and  after  a  sharp  contest  of  alternately 
decreasing  bids,  from  which  the  rosy-faced  farmer 
retired,  the  contract  was  awarded  to  Peter  Flint. 

"  That  means  short  rations  fur  us  poor  folks," 
said  Roswell.  "  Why  did  n't  a  cannern  ball  knock 
my  mis'able  head  off  ?  I  wish  't  hed  !  " 

"  No,  ye  don't  nuther,  I  tell  ye,"  Gran'ther  Hill 
declared,  with  emphatic  thumps  of  his  staff  on  the 
floor.  "  An'  you  hain't  a-goin'  tu  starve  nuther,  if 
aour  'tater  bin  an'  pork  berril  hoi's  aout.  I  'm 
a-goin'  tu  take  ye  hum  along  wi'  me  tu  visit  a  year, 
an'  the  taown  may  go  tu  the  divil  fur  all  o'  me. 
A-sellin'  off  men  'at  fit  fur  the'  country !  By  the 
Lord  Harry,  I  would  n't  never  fit  fur  it  if  I  'd  ha' 
knowed  what  a  passel  o'  maggits  it  was  a-goin'  tu 
breed.  I  swear  I  won't  agin,  come  what  may  ! " 

"You're  tumble  good,  Cap'n  Hill,"  faltered 
Roswell,  overcome  by  this  hospitable  offer  of  a 
comfortable  home,  "  but  I  don't  b'lieve  I  'd  ortu 
trouble  ye,  an'  mebby  they  —  they  won't  let  me." 

"  Shet  yer  head,,  an'  go  'long  an'  git  int'   the 


168          AN   OLD-TIME   MARCH  MEETING 

waggin.  I  sh'ld  like  tu  see  'em  stop  ye  !  "  Gran'- 
ther  Hill  growled  hoarsely,  glowering  fiercely  on 
every  one  within  range  of  his  vision.  "  Jozeff,  on- 
hitch  the  team,  an'  le  's  be  a-goin'  hum." 

"  I  p'sume  like  'nough  it  '11  be  all  right  wi'  M'ri, 
his  a-comin'  in  so  sort  o'  on  expected,"  Joseph  con- 
fided to  Sam  Lovel  as  he  untied  the  halters ;  "  but, 
Sam  Hill,  I  guess  by  the  time  father  's  put  him 
through  Ticonderogue  ev'ry  day  for  three  four 
weeks  a-runnin',  he  '11  think  he  'd  ortu  hev  tew  pen- 
sions. Gosh !  it  'most  seems  sometimes  's  'ough  I  'd 
ortu  hev  one,  arter  all  I  've  endured  in  them  'ere 
battles." 

"  Wai,  if  ary  one  on  'em  gits  sick  on  't,  you  can 
send  Ros'ell  over  tu  aour  haouse  a  spell,"  said  Sam 
Lovel. 

"  An'  when  he  gits  Hill's  folks  an'  you  all  eat 
aout,  Lovel,  we  '11  give  him  a  try  down  tu  aour 
haouse,"  said  John  Dart,  in  a  loud,  confidential 
whisper  that  was  like  a  gust  of  welcome  south  wind 
to  the  two  old  men  already  in  the  lumber  wagon. 
"  Skin  Flint  '11  haf  ter  wait  awhile  fur  a  chance  tu 
starve  Uncle  Ros'ill  an'  git  paid  for  it." 

There  was  a  stir  of  curiosity  among  the  groups 
before  the  town  house,  and  sentences  were  left  un- 
finished, or  finished  unheard  by  the  audience,  as  a 
stranger  appeared  there,  a  traveler,  evidently,  for 
he  carried  a  carpet-bag,  and  the  newness  of  his  well- 
fitting  clothes  was  worn  off  with  far-journeying. 


AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING         169 

He  searched  the  faces  that  were  turned  toward  him, 
not  as  if  in  quest  of  a  familiar  one,  but  as  if  for  one 
that  promised  the  readiest  answer  to  a  question. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  if  old  Mr.  Adams  is  here  ?  " 
he  asked  a  genial-looking  farmer. 

"  That 's  him  'at 's  jest  got  inter  Joe  Hill's  wag- 
gin,"  was  the  answer,  and  a  half  dozen  ready  fore- 
fingers indicated  the  vehicle. 

Giving  hasty  thanks  for  the  information,  the 
stranger,  a  bright,  alert-looking  young  fellow,  hur- 
ried over,  and  asked  with  some  embarrassment, 
dividing  his  inquiring  glances  between  Gran'thei 
Hill  and  the  shabby  old  man,  "  Is  this  Mr. 
Adams  ?  " 

"  That 's  my  name,"  the  latter  answered,  staring 
blankly  at  the  questioner;  and  Gran'ther  Hill, 
looking  very  grim,  nodded  in  confirmation. 

"  Why,  gran'pa,  how  d'  ye  do  ?  "  cried  the  young 
man,  in  a  hearty  voice.  "  You  don't  know  me,  do 
you?"  he  said,  as  the  old  man,  still  staring,  re- 
sponded in  a  maze  of  wonder,  "  Haow  d'  ye  du, 
sir?" 

"  I  'm  your  gran'son,  John  White." 

"  Good  Lord !  you  hain't !  "  the  old  man  ex- 
claimed, half  incredulous ;  and  then,  studying  the 
smiling  face :  "  Oh,  you  be  !  I  can  see  your  ma's 
looks  in  your  eyes  jest  as  plain!  Oh,  my  good 
Lord  !  "  and  he  quite  broke  down. 

The  young  man's  eyes  were  moist,  and  he  was 


170          AN  OLD-TIME  MARCH  MEETING 

making  futile  efforts  to  swallow  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  Gran'ther  Hill  cleared  his  own  with  a 
sound  between  a  growl  and  a  howl,  cursing  under 
his  breath  his  "  damned  ol'  dried-up  gullet,"  and 
Joseph  and  Sam  looked  intently  at  nothing  away 
off  in  the  fields,  while  they  groped  blindly  in  their 
pockets  for  handkerchiefs. 

"I  do'  know,  but  it  kinder  seems  's  'ough  I 
ketched  cold  in  that  'ere  dumbed  taown  haouse," 
said  Joseph,  snuffling.  "  I  du  reg'lar  'most  every 
March  meetin'." 

44 1  guess  we  all  did,"  Sam  urged,  with  a  weak 
little  laugh. 

"  Well,  gran 'pa,"  the  stranger  said,  steadying  his 
voice,  "  where  be  you  stayhr  ?  Or  shall  we  go  over 
to  the  hotel?" 

"I  —  I  don't  stay  nowheres,  —  not  yit,"  grand- 
father replied. 

"  The'  hain't  no  hotel !  "  growled  Gran'ther  Hill, 
"  nothin'  only  Harmner's  cussed  tarvern.  You  're 
a-goin'  hum  'long  wi'  me,  both  on  ye,  jes'  's  yer 
gran'sir  "sot  aout  tu!  Come,  pile  in  here,  young 
man.  Hurry  up  yer  cakes,  Jozeff,  an'  le  's  be  a- 
pikin'." 

The  newcomer  demurred  in  vain,  and  presently 
the  party  went  lumbering  on  its  homeward  way. 

The  band  chariot  of  a  circus  could  not  have'  at- 
tracted more  attention,  for  the  news  had  run  like 
wildfire  through  the  dispersing  assembly  that  "  ol' 


AN  OLD-TIME   MARCH  MEETING         171 

Uncle  Ros'ilFs  gran'son  had  come  fr'm  aout  West 
arter  the  ol*  man,  an'  was  a-goin'  tu  take  him  right 
off'n  the  taown." 

It  was  as  wonderful  as  a  story  out  of  a  book. 

The  freeholders  dispersed  from  the  town  house 
more  rapidly  than  they  had  gathered.  The  com- 
pany of  ball  players  on  the  common  was  reduced 
to  the  few  boys  whose  homes  were  nearest.  The 
chimney  of  the  deserted  town  house  was  scattering 
on  the  wind  the  last  wisp  of  smoke  from  the  ex- 
piring fire  as  Gran'ther  Hill,  with  his  captured 
guests  beside  him,  driving  over  the  crest  of  Stony 
Brook  Hill,  cast  a  last  triumphant  glance  back 
upon  the  scene. 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

MRS.  HARRIET  PIPER'S  curiosity  was  exercised  con- 
cerning the  cause  of  a  peripatetic  visit  which  her 
husband  was  enjoying  with  two  influential  towns- 
men who  had  called  upon  him  one  June  morning  in 
the  imposing  array  of  holiday  attire.  Brother  Foot, 
a  class  leader  and  deacon,  wore  his  bell-crowned  hat 
and  black  coat  of  severely  formal  cut,  and  his  fine 
calfskin  boots,  whose  toes  had  acquired  a  devout  up- 
ward turn  at  frequent  prayer  meetings,  and  now 
creaked  with  something  of  the  Sabbath-day  solem- 
nity in  their  measured  cadence  as  he  walked  to  and 
fro.  His  more  worldly  companion,  Eos  well  Kent, 
honored  the  occasion  with  as  much  attention  to  dress. 
He  wore  a  beaver  of  the  same  style,  which  had  not 
changed  in  Danvis  for  twenty  years,  but  his  swal- 
low-tailed coat  was  blue,  garnished  with  shining 
brass  buttons.  The  deep  cuffs  were  rolled  back  till 
the  soiled  lining  was  conspicuous  above  the  wrist- 
bands of  the  shirt.  Both  men  wore  uncomfortable 
black  silk  stocks  and  broad  collars  that  came  high 
up  on  their  freshly  shaven  cheeks. 

Mrs.  Piper's  curiosity  enhanced  the  usual  alert- 
ness of  her  mien  as  she  craned  her  neck  and  pricked 
her  ears  to  catch  a  word  of  the  conversation  as  the 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  173 

trio  passed  through  the  yard  and  walked  toward  the 
barn.  She  was  rewarded  by  no  sound  but  the  exas- 
perating creak  of  the  deacon's  boots  growing  fainter, 
and  as  the  party  entered  the  barn  it  was  succeeded 
by  the  alarmed  twitter  of  the  swallows,  resounding 
through  the  empty  bays,  mingled  with  the  louder 
cackle  of  a  hen  frightened  from  her  nest. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  on  airth  them  men  's 
up  tu,  a-shoolin'  hether  an'  yon,  along  wi'  your 
father  ?  "  the  brisk  little  woman  said  to  her  comely 
daughter,  who  was  wiping  the  last  of  a  pile  of  milk 
pans.  "  If  it  wa  'n't  for  both  on  'em  bein'  here,  I 
should  guess  like  's  not  they  was  beggin'  for  the 
minister,  but  they  would  n't  come  tugether  for  that, 
bein'  the  Kents  is  Universalists,  which  Solomon 
Foot  'Id  jes'  's  soon  fellership  the  ol'  Scratch.  Your 
father  'Id  ortu  give  suthin'  tu  one  church  or  t'other 
an'  not  be  haounded  by  all  on  'em.  'T  'Id  be  cheaper 
an'  more  sartain.  Mebby  that 's  what  they  be  up 
tu,  kinder  tirin'  one  'nother  aout.  I  du  declare, 
Malviny,"  she  said,  as  her  daughter  passed  to  the 
open  door  with  a  pile  of  shining  tin  pans  on  her 
arm,  "  it's  tumble  aggravating  the  way  you  go 
'raoun',  not  takin'  no  more  int'res'  in  what 's  a-goin' 
on  'an  a  post  in  the  fence !  Hain't  you  a-feelin' 
well  ? "  She  noticed  the  roses  in  her  daughter's 
cheeks  were  a  little  faded,  and  the  luster  of  her 
black  eyes  was  less  bright  than  usual,  and  followed 
her  to  the  open  door,  just  outside  of  which  Malvina 


174  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

deftly  turned  the  milk  pans  on  their  shelf  to  sweeten 
in  the  sunlight.  Her  mother,  ignoring  the  clatter, 
called  out,  "  I  guess  I  'd  ortu  fix  you  up  some  bone- 
set  or  suthin'  tu  take." 

"  Shaw !  mother,  the'  hain't  nothin'  ails  me," 
Malvina  laughed,  nervously,  "  but  I  don't  see  no 
use  o'  stewin'  an'  s'misin'  abaout  what  you  can't  find 
aout  till  you  know." 

"  You  don't  s'pose  your  father's  took  it  intu  his 
head  tu  sell  the  place  ?  I  'd  ortu  go  an'  find  the  ol' 
Dominick  'at  stole  her  nest  an'  come  off  wi'  a  mess 
o'  chickens  yist'd'y,"  she  said,  after  a  minute's 
study.  So,  putting  on  a  sun-bonnet  and  taking  a 
basin  of  chicken  feed,  she  set  forth  to  execute  this 
bit  of  strategy.  But  before  she  reached  the  barn, 
wading  with  lifted  skirts  through  the  rank  barn 
grass,  pigweed  and  redroot  of  the  yard,  her  husband 
and  the  visitors  came  out  of  it  and  inarched  toward 
the  hog  pen,  for,  in  fact,  he  was  attending  to  some 
belated  chores,  while  they  bore  him  company  to 
economize  time  and  enjoy  a  critical,  neighborly  in- 
spection of  the  premises.  As  they  passed,  she 
noticed  that  the  Deacon  was  notching  tallies  in  the 
corners  of  a  pine  stick  which  he  carried  in  his  hand, 
but  she  caught  no  words  and  heard  no  sound  save 
the  contented  grunting  of  the  swine,  and  concluded 
to  await  what  information  her  husband  might  be 
disposed  to  give  when  he  came  to  the  house. 

He  deferred  this  event  by  a  pretended  errand 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  175 

to  the  woodshed,  and  then  came  with  delibera- 
tion. 

"  Well,  what  was  they  a-wantin'  ?  "  she  asked, 
after  more  than  reasonable  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Where  's  Malviny  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Up  in  her  chahrnber.    Now,  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  You  can't  never  guess,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of 
mystery. 

"  Levi  Piper,  if  you  got  anything  tu  tell,  why 
don't  you  tell  it  ?  " 

He  began  impressively,  "  They  want  me  to  run 
for  Legislator'  nex'  fall !  " 

"  Shucks  !  "  she  exclaimed  contemptuously. 
"  They  're  jest  a  foolin'.  They  know  't  they  can't 
kill  off  Peck,  a  ye'rlin',  an'  you  '11  git  beat  an'  be 
aouten  the  way  for  good  an'  all.  Foot  an'  Kent's 
both  on  'em  layin'  the'  corners  tu  rep'sent  the 
taown." 

u  Mebby  they  be  at  some  f  utur'  time,  but  they  're 
honest  naow  in  a-wantin'  me  tu,  Har'i't.  The  's  lots 
'at  won't  s'port  Peck  an'  says  so,  an'  Foot  an' 
Kent's  got  it  all  figered  aout  who  '11  go  for  me  jest 
tu  beat  him,  an'  the  's  'nough  for  tu  gi'  me  a  clean 
m'jority." 

"  I  say  -as  I  said  afore,  shucks  !  They  're  jest  a- 
makin'  a  stool  pigin  on  ye." 

"  W^all,  naow,  you  women  folks  do'  know  jest 
haow  folks  is  a-feelin'.  Le'  me  tell  ye."  Levi  took 
an  argumentative  position,  resting  his  elbows  on  his 


176  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

knees,  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  spread  and  the 
forefinger  of  the  other  ready  to  count  them  off. 
His  wife  looked  at  them  and  permitted  herself  to 
listen,  with  the  determination  of  not  being  con- 
vinced. 

"  In  the  first  place,  the'  's  sev'ral  of  the  m'litia 
comp'ny  'at  don't  like  Peck  for  keptain,  an'  they  '11 
go  ag'in  him,  twenty  on  'em,  at  the  least  cal'lation. 
Then,  ther  's  Clapham  won't  vote  for  him  'cause  he 
buys  all  his  groceries  tu  Vgennes ;  he  '11  kerry 
twenty  votes.  Then  the'  's  all  the  bloomers  is  ag'in 
him.  Hamner  an'  his  gang  will ;  but  Joel  Bartlett 
an' what  Quakers  the'  is,  is  ag'in  him  'cause  he  don't 
come  aout,  flatfooted,  Anter  Slavery.  Sam  Lovel 
an'  his  folks  raither  favors  him,  an'  so  does  the 
Hillses,  but  th's  all  the  Burtons  over  in  the  nor'east 
corner,  Beri's  brothers  an'  'mongst  'em,  'at  '11  go 
for  anybody  fust.  Foot 's  got  'em  all  notched  off  on 
a  stick,  for  an'  ag'in,  an'  he  figur's  me  aout  a  m'jor- 
ity  as  high  as  ten." 

Mrs.  Piper  shook  her  head.  "  Then  ag'in,"  he 
continued,  indicating  a  fresh  finger,  "  the's  sights 
o'  women  folks  '11  like  tu  see  Mis'  Peck  took  daown 
a  peg,  for  the  airs  she  puts  on  'caount  o'  bein'  a 
member's  wife,  an'  they  '11  hev  influence,  as  you 
know,  an'  I  know,"  he  added,  with  the  air  of  one 
having  experience.  "You  was  mentioned  by  the 
Deacon  an'  Kent  as  one  cal'lated  tu  adorn  s'ciety 
tu  the  Capital.  Them  was  the  Deacon's  exack 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  177 

words.  It 's  usuil,  you  know,  for  members'  folks  tu 
spend  a  week  or  so  tu  Montpelier  durin'  the  set- 
tin'."  The  delicate  hint  had  its  effect  upon  the 
worthy  Harriet,  who  was  not  without  aspirations. 

"  The  's  another  thing  that  I  speak  on  only  tu 
you."  He  went  softly  to  the  stairway  to  assure 
himself  that  Malvina  was  in  her  chamber,  where 
he  heard  her  moving  about  and  singing  softly  to 
herself.  "  If  you  an'  me  favors  Andrew  Colby 
makin'  up  tu  Malviny,  with  a  proper  onderstandin', 
him  an'  his  'n  will  s'port  me,  an'  that  '11  make  my 
'lection  pooty  nigh  sartain."  He  placed  the  tips  of 
all  his  fingers  together  and  complacently  regarded 
his  wife. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Andrew's  fas'  for  her  but  she 's  tur- 
rible  sot  on  Tom  Farr,  an'  I  do'  know 's  she  can  be 
made  tu  hear  tu  reason,"  the  mother  remarked. 

"  Parental  authority  an'  moral  'suasion  '11  go  a 
good  ways,  an'  the'  hain't  no  comparin'  the  advan- 
tages o'  the  tew  men.  Andrew  '11  hev  a  good  farm 
an'  a  sheer  o'  his  father's  money  'at 's  aout  tu  int'- 
res',  an'  Tom  hain't  nothin'  but  his  tew  hands." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  Malviny  don't  look  at  it  that 
way,  an'  she  's  sot." 

"  Wai,  you  talk  her  inter  it,  Har'i't,"  said  he, 
"an'  naow,  don't  you  think  I'd  better  jest  con- 
sent tu  run  an'  put  myself  int'  the  hands  o'  my 
friends  ?  I  lot  consib'able  on  seein'  you  up  tu 
Montpelier." 


178  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

"  I  do'  know  but  what  you  bed,  considerin ',"  she 
assented.  "  If  Malviny  was  tu  go  up  a  spell,  it  'Id 
kinder  take  her  mind  off 'n  Tom.  She  's  a-lookin' 
kinder  peaked,  an'  don't  'pear  tu  take  no  int'res' 
in  nothin'." 

Approaching  footsteps  put  an  end  to  the  conver- 
sation, but  there  was  no  need  of  more,  as  the  ques- 
tion of  Levi  Piper's  candidacy  was  settled,  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned. 

Mrs.  Piper  took  the  first  opportunity  to  acquaint 
Malvina  with  the  part  she  was  expected  to  play  in 
the  coming  campaign,  and  to  dazzle  her  with  the 
glamour  of  gay  life  at  the  Capital,  and  her  silence 
was  taken  as  consent  to  offer  herself  as  a  bribe  to 
secure  the  votes  of  the  Colby  faction. 

In  a  fortnight  the  adherents  of  the  two  candi- 
dates began  to  fall  in  line,  and  as  summer  ad- 
vanced the  battle  was  on,  and  wordy  warfare  waged 
on  rainy  days  and  evenings  at  Clapham's,  at  Ham- 
ner's  and  at  Uncle  Lisha's  shop.  On  the  highways, 
teamsters  hauled  alongside  and  poured  broadsides 
into  each  other,  and  even  the  Sundays  were  shat- 
tered by  political  discourses  during  noonings. 

Gran'ther  Hill  maintained, "  Peck  hain't  no  sort 
of  a  captain,  and  wa'n't  fit  for  tu  rep'sent  the 
taown."  At  last  he  allowed  himself  to  become  con- 
vinced that  as  no  military  measures  were  likely  to 
come  before  the  Legislature,  he  could  give  Peck 
his  support.  In  this  he  was  joined  by  Joseph, 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  179 

though  the  latter  said,  "  it  did  'most  seem 's  'ough 
Peck  wa'n't  no  more  fit  tu  go  to  Legislatur'  'n 
any  other  man  'at  wa'n't  no  more  fit  'n  what  he 
was." 

Solon's  grievance  was,  "  the  regular  candidate  had 
in  some  of  his  speeches  in  taown  meeting  used  dam- 
biguous  words,  which  wa'n't  in  his  dictionary  nor 
in  his  vocalgabulary,  nor  yet  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, wherefore,  on  which  account,  I  shall  not 
support  the  present  incumbent." 

With  this  single  exception  the  frequenters  of  the 
shop  were  harmoniously  united  in  politics,  Sam 
being  a  staunch  supporter  of  Peck  and  Antoine  a 
noisy  partisan,  very  proud  of  his  newly  acquired 
political  rights,  in  which  he  proved  himself  an  effi- 
cient worker. 

"  They  du  say,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  after  a  season 
of  silent  meditation,  one  August  evening,  when  the 
whole  company  was  assembled  in  solemn  conclave, 
"  that  the  hull  b'ilin'  o'  Burton's  Taown  Corner 's 
goin'  for  Piper,  sole  an'  uppers,  ev'ything  'at  stan's 
on  tew  laigs,  even  tu  ol'  Beri's  grin'stun  'at 's  framed 
int'  the  side  o'  his  lawg  haouse." 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  so,"  Sam  assented,  reluctantly. 
"  They  all  suck  through  the  same  straw,  an'  they  're 
as  sot  as  a  row  o'  posts,  an'  you  might 's  well  argy 
wi'  posts." 

"  Wai,  Ah  don'  care,  Ah  '11  paid  for  it  an'  Ah  '11 
can  lie  jes'  nat'ral  naow  sem  if  Ah '11  was  born 


180  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

here,"  cried  Antoine,  gesticulating  frantically  with 
his  pipe  in  one  hand  and  the  other  grasping  a  pipe- 
ful of  prepared  tobacco.  "  Le  's  see ;  taown  meetin  's 
nex'  Tuesday.  Wai,  Monday  Ah  '11  goin'  over  on 
dat  Burton  Corner,  me,  an'  Ah  '11  goin'  for  'lection 
some." 

"  'T  won't  du  no  good,"  Sam  said.  "  They  're 
goin'  tu  put  ol'  Beri  on  the  justice  ticket,  an'  that  '11 
fix  him,  sure  as  guns." 

"  Wai,  prob'ly,  Ah  '11  can'  scairt  it,"  said  Antoine, 
pulling  at  his  pipe,  now  ablast. 

"  Young  Colby,  he  's  arter  the  Piper  gal,  hot- 
footed," said  Pelatiah,  not  yet  a  voter,  "  so  the  hull 
forty-'leven  o'  the  Colbys  '11  vote  for  ol'  Piper." 

It  was,  indeed,  true  that  the  unfaithful  Malvina 
was  bestowing  her  brightest  smiles  on  Andrew, 
whom  the  waning  of  every  Sunday  saw  wending 
his  way  to  the  Piper  homestead  astride  his  hand- 
some gray  mare,  where  poor  Tom  Farr  was  sure  to 
find  her  "  eatin'  post  fodder,"  and  his  own  rightful 
place  in  the  square  room  preoccupied,  as  might  be 
known  by  the  streak  of  candle  light  not  quite  hid- 
den at  the  edges  of  the  painted  curtains.  It  was 
quite  heart-breaking  to  think  of  the  two,  perhaps 
even  then  sitting  together  on  the  sofa,  slipping 
inevitably  closer  as  they  bent  their  heads  over  the 
steel  plates  in  "The  Keepsake,"  the  room's  sole 
book.  It  was  a  wonder  that  the  baleful  glitter  of 
Gran'pa  Piper's  coffin-plate  on  the  mantelpiece, 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  181 

where  it  occupied  a  central  position  between  a 
conch  shell  and  a  whale's  tooth,  did  not  strike 
terror  to  Malvina's  perfidious  soul. 

"  Aour  Malviny  'pears  tu  be  conductin'  herself 
to.l'lable  cute,"  said  Levi  to  his  wife  one  Monday 
morning  succeeding  a  prolonged  prosecution  of 
Andrew's  courtship,  "  She 's  fixin'  my  'lection 
sure,  an'  I  hain't  a  goin'  tu  forgit  it.  I  'm  a-goin'  tu 
Vgennes  an'  git  the  best  dress  Button 's  got  in  his 
store  for  you,  an'  the  secont  best  for  her,  for  I  don't 
cal'late  tu  hev  ary  one  on  ye  play  secont  fiddle  tu 
anybody  up  tu  Montpelier." 

Mrs.  Piper  expressed  her  gratitude  effusively, 
and  gave  plain  directions  concerning  the  style  and 
color  of  the  two  dresses.  Through  the  steam  of  her 
washing  she  had  visions  of  social  triumphs. 

"  An'  you  might  as  well  git  you  some  fine  shirt 
timber  an'  have  Ann  'Lizer  make  'em  when  she 
makes  aour  dresses,"  she  said,  making  silent  calcu- 
lation. "  You  'd  orter  hev  ye  as  many  as  three,  for 
your  old  ones  is  as  good  as  wore  aout." 

"  Peck  tol'  o'  some  on  'em,  lawyers  from  BurlV- 
t'n  an'  sech,  as  actilly  changed  the'  shirts  ev'y  day !  " 

"  Good  land  o'  Moses !  Wai,  they  must  be  awful 
dirty  cre'turs ! " 

"  An'  some  on  'em  flourished  clean  pocket  han'- 
kerchers  even  oftener  'n  they  changed  the'  shirts, 
so  Peck  says." 

"  Wai,  I  guess  you  've  got  'nough  o'  them  tu 


182  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

answer ;  but  abaout  the  shirts,  you  '11  want  ye  nine 
yards  o'  bleached  cotton  cloth  an'  a  yard  an'  a  half 
o'  linen,  and  Ann  Lizer  won't  charge  over  'n  above 
fifty  cents  apiece  if  she  comes  right  int'  the  haouse 
an*  makes  'em  up  'long  wi'  me  an'  Malviny's 
dresses." 

Soon  Levi  departed  out  of  the  steamy  precincts 
of  the  washing  in  a  radiant  halo,  out  of  whose  airy 
fabric  he  builded,  not  castles,  but  legislative  halls 
that  arose  and  shone  before  him  as  he  journeyed 
toward  Vergennes  and  ever  seemed  a  little  nearer. 
He  was  gratified  to  be  recognized  as  a  candidate 
by  some  prominent  out-of-town  people,  and  flattered 
to  be  consulted  concerning  proposed  legislative 
measures.  In  anticipation  he  already  felt  a  law- 
maker when  Hamner,  reckoned  among  his  oppo- 
nents, set  forth  a  decanter  of  choice  Jamaica  and 
said: 

"  Naow,  Mr.  Piper,  when  you  git  up  tu  Montpe- 
lier,  I  hope  you  won't  forgit  the  poor  tarvern-keep- 
ers,  an'  '11  help  tu  git  aour  licenses  put  daown 
kinder  reason'ble." 

Or  when  Judge  Bradley  beamed  benignly  upon 
him  and  said :  "  Piper,  of  course  you  '11  go  in  for 
a  new  court-house.  That  old  barrack  at  Middlebury 
is  a  disgrace  to  aour  caounty." 

Mrs.  Piper,  when  taken  by  neighbors  in  the  pride 
and  perplexities  of  dressmaking  with  her  daughter 
and  Ann  'Lizer,  innocently  declared  : 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  183 

"  It 's  ridie'lous  the  way  I  've  kep'  a-puttin'  off 
hevin'  me  made  a  dress  an'  nothin'  fit  tu  go  no- 
wheres,  wi'  no  telliu'  what  may  happen.  Hevin' 
Ann  'Lizer,  it  seemed  well  'nongh  for  Malviny  tu 
hev  her  a  dress  an'  him  some  shirts,  an'  make  one 
job  on't. 

When  the  dresses  were  finished,  they  lay  in  state 
for  more  than  a  week  on  the  gay  patchwork  quilt 
of  the  bed  in  the  spare  bedroom,  where  they  were 
exhibited  with  satisfaction  to  neighborly  callers. 
The  gorgeously  painted  vase  of  plaster  of  paris 
fruit  and  the  lace  pincushion  founded  on  the  foot 
of  a  broken  glass  candlestick  were  no  longer  objects 
of  casual  interest  as  they  stood  on  the  curly  maple 
bureau,  although  tomato,  peach  and  orange  still 
gave  forth  the  same  common,  pervading  odor  of  oil 
and  turpentine,  and  the  pinheads  shone  brightly  as 
ever  in  various  designs. 

The  morning  of  the  first  Monday  in  September 
broke  from  a  cloudless  sky  on  the  hills  and  vales 
of  Danvis.  One  of  its  earliest  beams  slid  from  fir- 
bristling  peak  to  the  green  depths  of  Burtontown, 
and  gave  greeting  to  Antoine  Bissette,  where  he 
was  plodding  merrily  along  a  road  that  followed 
the  winding  of  a  babbling  stream,  whose  voice  arose 
to  mingle  with  the  morning  song  of  the  breeze,  now 
astir  among  the  woodland  steeps.  To  these,  as  he 
trudged  briskly  onward,  flecking  off  now  and  then 
the  leaves  of  obtruding  wayside  branches  with  a 


184  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

coil  of  rope  that  he  carried  in  one  hand,  Antoine 
added  a  snatch  of  an  old  Canadian  song,  or  his  own 
rendering  of  some  popular  ballad  of  his  adopted 
land.  A  partridge  ran  a  little  way  before  him  and 
burst  into  noisy  flight,  a  crow  launched  itself  from 
a  dead  tree  top  and  signalled  to  its  comrades  the 
presence  of  an  intruder.  As  the  glen  widened  and 
the  broad  light  of  a  clearing  shone  through  the 
trees,  the  clear  "Zit,  zit"  of  a  meadowlark  cut  the 
air  to  give  another  token  of  open  fields,  into  which 
the  fern-edged  road  now  entered. 

A  log  house  stood  near,  and  a  tall,  uncouth  man 
beside  it  stood  curving  his  long  back  over  a  scythe 
which  he  bore  with  all  his  weight  upon  a  grind- 
stone, one  end  of  whose  frame  was  mortised  into 
the  house,  the  other  into  two  legs  standing  upon  the 
ground.  A  tow-headed  boy  was  wrestling  with 
the  crank,  while  the  ungreased  shaft  in  its  irregu- 
lar revolutions  shrieked  the  doleful  plaint  that  he 
might  well  have  uttered.  Searching  sky  and  earth 
for  some  object  of  interest  to  lesson  the  weariness 
of  his  labor,  he  caught  sight  of  Antoine,  and  com- 
municated his  discovery  to  the  man,  who,  after  a 
sidelong  glance  from  the  scythe,  lifted  his  weight 
from  it  and  devoted  himself  to  regarding  the 
stranger. 

"  Good  morny,"  the  latter  gaVe  greeting,  as  he 
drew  near  the  fence.  "  Pooty  good  day  dis  rnorny." 

"  Mornin,"  Beri  Burton  responded,  setting  his 


A   SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  185 

scythe  against  the  grindstone  and  approaching  the 
fence,  upon  which  he  hung  himself  while  the  boy 
slumped  upon  the  chips  in  the  most  convenient 
place  for  listening  and  staring,  and  wishing  the 
opportunity  might  outlast  his  father's  intention  of 
scythe-sharpening. 

"  Ah  guess  you  '11  goin'  mek  finish  you  hay  in' 
to-day  so  you  could  vote  to-morry,  prob'ly,  ant  it  ?  " 
Antoine  asked,  in  allusion  to  the  old  saying  he  had 
heard  reported  at  the  last  gathering  in  the  shop, 
that  a  man  who  had  not  finished  haying  by  election 
day  had  no  right  to  vote. 

"Hough!"  Beri  snorted,  resentfully.  "I  god- 
done  er  hayin'  more  'n  er  week  ergo.  Jus'  er  goin' 
ter  cuddaown  er  lei  bit  er  raowen.  Guess  I  be  all 
right  for  'lection." 

"  Ah  guess  so.  Ant  he  too  bad  dey  ant  goin'  for 
be  no  'lection  to-morry  ?  " 

"  Hain't  goin'  tu  be  none  ?  What  in  thunder  ye 
mean  ?  Oh,  you  git  aout !  "  Beri  mumbled,  in  con- 
siderable excitement. 

"  Sartain,  ant  you  hear  haow  dey  all  got  some 
smallypoxes  bus'  aout  on  der  Forge  Village !  Two 
cases  full  of  it  on  Hamner's  Tavern.  Clapham 
Clark  he  got  some,  one  de  forge  man's  got  mos' 
dead  of  it,  an'  everybody  scare  to  deat',  mos'." 

Beri's  face  grew  as  pale  as  uncleanliness  and 
sunburn  would  let  it,  and  he1  slid  hastily  along  the 
fence  to  a  safer  distance  from  Antoine. 


186  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

"  Gol  dumn  ye !  You  be'n  right  in  ermongst  er 
cussed  rotten  dise'e  an'  come  up  here  peddlin'  of 
it  ?  Yer  orter  be  shot !  "  he  blubbered  out  in  mixed 
terror  and  anger,  and  the  boy,  in  vague  comprehen- 
sion of  danger,  scrambled  on  all  fours  to  the  limit 
of  earshot. 

"Oh!  no  sah,  M'sieu  Burton,"  Antoine  pro- 
tested. Ah  '11  ant  be  near  it  —  only  hear  it  —  an' 
Ah  '11  had  him,  too,  gre't  many  year  'go." 

"  Yas,  they  say  ye  put  three  Frenchmuns  ter- 
gether  an'  they  '11  breed  it,"  said  Beri,  reassured 
and  drawing  nearer  again. 

The  sound  of  a  strange  voice  had  now  drawn  to 
the  door  his  wife,  fat,  unkempt  and  slatternly,  with 
a  half-grown  daughter  of  like  build  and  general 
appearance. 

"  Say,  Mum,  they  all  got  er  smallpox  daown  ter 
er  village,  an'  ain't  goin'  ter  have  no  'lection.  Say, 
Mum,  haow  long  ergo  were  I  toxicated  ?  " 

"  "Toxercated !  Wall,  I  reckon  when  ye  hed  er 
las'  chance  at  somebody's  jug ! "  she  sneered,  and 
then,  in  evident  alarm,  "  Who  tell'd  ye  the'  was 
smallpox  ?  I  b'lieve  ye  lie,  Be'." 

"  Him,"  Beri  answered,  indicating  Antoine  with 
a  nod.  "  He  live  right  handy  by  er  village,  an'  he 
know.  Say,  Mum,  when  were  I  'toxicated  for  er 
smallpox  ?  I  useter  hed  er  mark  here  some'eres." 
He  pushed  his  shirt  sleeve  to  his  shoulder  and  be- 
gan searching  the  rough  skin  for  a  vaccination  scar, 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  187 

while  his  wife  gave  no  heed  to  his  question,  but  be- 
set Antoine  for  particulars  of  the  ill  tidings. 

"  Ne'  mind,"  said  Beri,  abandoning  the  hopeless 
search  and  futile  query.  "  You  '11  wanter  know 
somep'n  sometime." 

44  An'  what  brung  ye  up  here  for  ?  "  Mum  Burton 
asked  finally,  curiously  eyeing  the  rope. 

44  Ah  '11  was  tol'  you,  ma'am,"  Antoine  answered, 
with  great  politeness.  4<  Ah  '11  was  lose  mah  leetly 
caow,  an'  Ah  '11  hear  it  say  he  was  be  straggle  off 
dis  way.  You  '11  ant  prob'ly  seen  him,  ant  it  ?  — 
leetly  red  caow,  mos'  all  spot  over  wid  white,  so  he 
look  more  white  as  he  was  red,  an'  de  bes'  caow  you 
never  see  to  beat  it,  sah.  Oh,  he  brimly  over  de 
pail  two  tain,  ev'ry  day." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  piteous  imploring 
for  tidings  of  the  lost  treasure,  but  she,  briefly 
searching  her  memory,  answered  hastily :  — 

44  No,  we  hain't  seen  or  heard  o'  no  seeh,"  and 
continued  concerning  what  was  uppermost  in  her 
thoughts.  44  Gol  dumn  er  ol'  smallpox  !  Can't  hev 
no  'lection,  an'  it 's  goo'-bye  ter  you  bein'  Square, 
Be' !  It 's  tew  plaguey  mean,  it  is,  jes'  you  got  er 
chance  tu  be  somebody,  some  'caount." 

She  strode  into  the  house  and  gave  vent  to  some 
part  of  her  vexation  and  disappointment  upon  the 
unwashed  kettles  and  pans  that  stood  in  an  untidy 
congregation  on  the  stove. 

Beri  dug  a  shovel-like  thumb-nail  into  the  soft 


188  A   SEPTEMBER   ELECTION 

wood  of  the  top-rail  in  momentary  abstracted  medi- 
tation ;  then,  as  Antoine  moved  slowly  away,  strad- 
dled over  it  and  walked  on  beside  him,  calling  back 
to  the  house :  — 

"  I  er  goin'  'long  up  ter  Jonerdab's  an'  Peleg's, 
an'  'mongst  'em,  ter  tell  'em  what  er  rip  be  !  " 

His  wife  called  back  imperatively,  "  You  send  a 
word  ter  darkter  by  that  feller  to  hyper  over  here 
an'  impockerlate  aour  sonny  an'  sis  an'  all  them  ter 
tother  haousen  what  hain't  be'n,  an'  tell  that  feller 
not  ter  forgit." 

Antoine  did  not  find  his  cow ;  that  was  safe  at 
home  in  her  ferny  pasture,  whither  he,  too,  wended 
his  way  when  assured  that  his  news  was  imparted 
to  every  inhabitant  of  Burtontown  Corners. 

Fine  weather  for  September  election  is  the  rule 
in  Vermont,  and  this  particular  one  was  no  excep- 
tion, as  gold  and  blue  and  green  as  a  bright  sun,  a 
cloudless  sky  and  fields  rank  with  lush  aftermath 
and  fresh  pasturage  could  make  it.  Such  a  day 
could  scarcely  fail  to  bring  out  every  voter  and,  of 
course,  every  boy  whom  some  unfinished  "  stent " 
did  not  withhold,  and  even  such  was  more  than 
likely  to  break  that  tyrannical  restraint  and  run 
away,  trusting  to  luck  to  escape  in  the  crowd  the 
eye  of  parent,  "  guardeen,"  or  employer.  Many  of 
the  womankind  improved  the  rare  opportunity  to 
visit  friends  who  lived  on  the  roads  to  the  town 
house,  or  in  its  neighborhood.  Farmhouses  that 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  189 

were  astir  with  their  own  busy  life  every  other  day 
of  the  year  were  tenantless  to-day,  and  the  hen 
hawk  wheeled  low  above  them,  making  leisurely 
selection  of  the  fattest  pullets.  Fields  were  so  free 
of  human  presence  that  at  midday  the  fox  ventured 
boldly  beyond  where  the  wild  sunflower  shone  in 
the  dusky  woodside. 

Mrs.  Piper  did  not  fail  to  improve  the  opportu- 
nity, and  rode  with  her  husband  to  the  village, 
where  she  might  spend  the  day  at  her  cousin's  and 
be  at  hand  to  get  the  first  news  of  the  .election. 
Malvina  chose  to  stay  at  home,  and  when,  from 
time  to  time,  her  mother  thought  of  her  during  the 
day,  she  pitied  her  spending  it  in  the  quiet  com- 
pany of  the  asthmatic  house  dog,  the  cat,  and  the 
poultry.  But  as  the  clock  in  the  kitchen  clicked 
the  alarm  for  eleven,  old  Lige  waddled  out  to  bark 
wheezily,  not  in  anger  or  in  joy,  but  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  custom,  at  a  smart  team  which  drove 
briskly  up  to  the  horse  block  and  hitching  post. 
The  hens  uttered  a  flustered  little  cackle,  the  cat 
jumped  upon  the  window  stool  to  learn  the  cause 
of  the  commotion,  but  Malvina  did  not  wonder  at 
all  when  Tom  Farr  sprang  out  of  a  high-boxed 
buggy.  When  Andrew  Colby  drove  that  way  an 
hour  later,  in  the  hope  of  furthering  his  suit  a  little, 
as  he  went  to  election,  he  was  dismayed  to  meet  the 
couple  driving  in  the  opposite  direction,  both 
dressed  in  their  best,  and  looking  very  happy. 


190  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

"  Dam  the  hull  bilin' !  I'll  larn  him  to  be  foolin' 
wi'  me  !  "  he  growled  back  at  them  over  his  shoulder. 
"  Not  a  identical  Colby  vote  does  ol'  Piper  get  this 
day!" 

He  laid  the  lash  to  his  horse  in  his  haste  to  make 
good  his  word,  while  Tom  and  Malvina  bowled 
merrily  on  their  way  to  the  first  minister  or  magis- 
trate they  might  find  in  the  next  town. 

Two  hours  before  noon  the  dreary  old  town- 
house  and  its  precincts  swarmed  with  the  male  in- 
habitants of  Danvis.  For  the  most  part,  the  elderly, 
middle-aged,  and  staid  men,  and  the  town  officers, 
were  gathered  inside  the  bare  walls,  while  the 
younger  men  and  boys  chose  the  more  cheerful 
outdoor  atmosphere,  some  lounging  upon  the  grass 
in  shade  and  sunshine,  some  in  groups  discussing 
the  chances  of  the  candidates,  or  watching  the  con- 
test of  a  pair  of  wrestlers  or  stick-pullers.  One 
great  centre  of  attraction  was  a  booth  of  boards 
built  against  the  side  of  the  town-house,  where,  for 
sale,  were  home-made  cakes  and  pies,  and  cookies, 
crackers  and  cheese,  highly  colored  with  annatto, 
popularly  known  as  "  otter."  There,  too,  were  some 
jars  of  candy,  in  sticks  striped  like  a  barber's  pole, 
and  balls  similarly  decorated,  and  cigars,  at  a  cent 
apiece.  The  purchaser  of  one  was  fortunate  if  it 
would  draw  —  or,  considering  the  flavor,  quite  as 
much  so  if  it  did  not.  There  were  a  box  of  dry, 
sugary  raisins,  a  drum  of  ancient  figs,  and  a  basket 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  191 

of  puckery  pears,  and  for  those  who  thirsted  for 
milder  potations  than  Hamner's  bar  offered,  there 
were  bottles  of  inead  and  a  cask  of  home-brewed 
spruce  beer.  The  proprietor  was  kept  busy  with  a 
brisk  trade,  which  increased  as  noon  approached 
and  the  far-comers  grew  hungry. 

"  Hain't  got  no  drawin'  plasters  ter  sell,  hev  ye, 
Joshaway  ? "  John  Dart  asked  when  struggling 
with  a  warped  cigar.  "  No  ?  Wai,  you'd  ort  tu  ;  I 
want  one  tu  put  ont'  the  back  o'  my  neck  to  draw 
the  smoke  through  this  'ere  seegar." 

The  ancient  joke  was  honored  with  a  salute  of 
laughter  not  at  all  relished  by  Joshua,  who  de- 
clared, "  That 's  baout  as  good  a  box  o'  cigars  as 
ever  I  hed  —  'most  every  one  on  'em  '11  go." 

"  Wai,  this  one  hain't  no  exception,"  said  John 
Dart ;  "  it  goes  aout  every  time.  Lord,  it  '11  ruin  me 
a-buyin'  matches  for  it.  Gi'  me  a  hunk  o'  that  'ere 
pink-eye  cheese  an'  a  han'f ul  o'  crackers,  an'  I  '11 
save  this  seegar  till  I  git  where  the'  's  a  stiddy  fire." 

At  one  o'clock  the  meeting  was  opened  by  the 
constable,  who  took  off  his  coat  preparatory  to  the 
labors  before  him,  and  the  voting  began.  The  dig- 
nitaries sitting  in  the  seat  of  honor  gave  him  their 
ballots,  which  he  deposited  in  their  respective  boxes, 
an  odd  array  of  makeshifts.  Some  were  square 
lozenge  boxes  with  sliding  covers,  some  round  with 
covers  that  slipped  on,  on  each  of  which  a  strip  of 
paper  was  pasted  whereon  appeared  in  faded  ink 


192  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

the  words,  "  State,"  "  County,"  «  Representative," 
"  Justice."  The  open  space  in  front  of  the  desk, 
and  then  the  aisle,  were  soon  crowded  ;  for  every  one 
seemed  possessed  of  the  idea  that  everything  de- 
pended on  his  vote  being  cast  immediately,  and 
there  was  some  pretty  rough  elbowing  and  hustling, 
but  all  in  the  best  humor,  for  no  one  took  in  ill 
part  a  trodden  toe  or  a  punched  rib. 

Gran'ther  Hill  was  in  the  thick  of  the  crowd, 
without  power  to  move  but  as  it  surged  forward  or 
swayed  from  side  to  side,  yet  holding  his  open  bal- 
lot aloft  like  a  banner. 

"  Quit  yer  con-dumned  shovin' ! "  cried  a  stout 
young  fellow  behind  him,  pushing  backward  lustily. 
"  You  've  most  squoze  the  breath  o'  life  aout  'n  this 
ol'  man!" 

"  Never  you  fear,  young  man ! "  the  veteran 
growled  huskily  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  've  stood 
wus  rackets,  an'  hain't  nigh  dead  yet !  'T  ain't  a 
primin'  tu  gettin'  aout  'n  Independence  !  I  '11  get 
up  ter  the  breastworks  an'  gi'  'em  a  ha'  bushel  o' 
Pecks!" 

Levi  Piper  sat  in  a  corner  among  a  group  of 
staunch  supporters,  looking  smiling  and  confident, 
spite  of  the  discomfort  of  wearing  his  best  suit, 
which  he  had  donned  out  of  respect  to  his  position, 
when  Brother  Foot,  who  had  been  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  among  the  assembled  freemen,  made  his 
way  to  him  bearing  a  troubled  countenance. 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  193 

"  What 's  the  rip  ?  "  he  whispered  anxiously. 

"  Andrew  Colby  's  a-peddlin'  votes  for  Peck 
faster  'n  a  boy  a-killin'  snakes,  an'  Beri  an'  his 
company  hain't  one  on  'em  here,  not  a  identical 
one  ! " 

The  smile  faded  from  Levi's  face  like  sunshine 
from  a  landscape  beneath  a  passing  cloud. 

"  Andrew !  "  he  gasped.  "  Why  !  he  promised 
me  fair  an'  square,  an'  I  Ve  done  all  I  agreed." 

" Can't  help  it,"  said  Foot,  sadly.  "I  see  him 
at  it  a-givin'  a  Peck  ballot  to  his  father  an' 
tew  brothers  an'  a-offerin'  on  'em  right  an'  left. 
'Peared  to  be  mad  as  a  settin'  hen  baout  suthin'. 
4  Damn  his  lyin'  ol'  soul,'  them  was  his  words 
speakin'  o'  you,  the  blasphemin'  sinner.  c  Damn 
his  lyin'  ol'  soul!'"  Second-hand  profanity,  be- 
ing cheap  and  sinless,  had  attractions  for  the 
Deacon. 

"  An'  the  Burtons  hes  all  gigged  back  on  me ! 
I  'm  a  gone  goose !  "  Mr.  Piper  groaned,  as  if  the 
curse  were  already  taking  effect,  and  he  wandered 
away  to  Clapham's  horse  shed  to  brood  over  his 
blasted  prospects.  All  his  visions  of  triumph  and 
honor  had  suddenly  sunk  in  a  gloomy  mist,  and 
already  he  suffered  the  humiliation  of  defeat,  and 
reviled  himself  for  the  useless  and  reckless  ex- 
pense of  the  two  new  dresses  and  the  three  shirts. 
The  black  silk  dress  might  serve  to  assuage  his 
wife's  disappointment,  and  the  yellow  poplin  recon- 


194  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

cile  Malvina  to  the  loss  of  a  lover  and  of  the  honor 
of  being  a  representative's  daughter,  but  he  could 
never  wear  those  shirts  without  being  reminded  of 
the  high  place  for  which  they  were  intended.  He 
cursed  the  day  in  which  he  had  been  persuaded  to 
be  a  candidate,  and  thenceforth  renounced  all  po- 
litical aspirations. 

From  his  retreat  he  could  see  the  voters  entering 
the  townhouse  and  made  mental  note  of  the  known 
or  supposed  preference  of  each.  "  The 's  more  'n 
half  on  'em  agin  me  'at  I  know  on  an'  I  was  a 
cussed  fool  ever  tu  run !  Blast  ol'  Foot  an'  his 
Metherdist  soft  soap !  He  jest  wanted  tu  see  me 
beat !  There  goes  the  Farr  tribe,  all  in  a  chunk, 
an'  all  agin  me.  Cy'  an'  his  boys,  Bial  an'  his'n, 
thirteen  on  'em.  All  but  Tom ;  wonder  where  he 
is  ?  Poor  Tom,  he  's  enough  sight  likelier  'n  Andrew, 
an'  I  'd  a  good  deal  druther  hev  him  in  the  family. 
Wai,  I  won't  slink  araound  here  like  a  scairt  fool 
—  but  I  swear  I  wish  't  I  was  t'  hum  a  pickin'  up 
stun ! " 

He  brushed  the  cobwebs  from  his  sleeve  and  re- 
turned to  the  townhouse,  trying  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned, though  unable  to  force  a  smile  to  his  dry 
lips.  The  votes  were  dropping  slowly  now,  the  con- 
stable found  time  to  exchange  a  few  words  of  con- 
versation with  the  dignitaries  beside  him  or  some 
of  the  interested  group  that  crowded  in  front  of  the 
desk  watching  the  ballot  boxes  as  if  their  eyes  might 


A   SEPTEMBER   ELECTION  195 

penetrate  the  wooden  shells  and  discover  the  secrets 
they  held.  Joel  Bartlett,  the  town  clerk,  had  a  re- 
spite for  his  fingers  from  the  incessant  scribbling 
of  names  as  the  constable  called  them  to  him,  and 
for  his  tongue  from  keeping  time  to  the  motion  of 
his  fingers. 

The  constable  looked  at  his  watch  and  called  out, 
"  Are  your  votes  all  in,  gentlemen  ?  The  box  will 
be  turned  in  five  minutes." 

A  rapidly  driven  wagon  stopped  in  front  of  the 
door,  and  in  a  moment  Tom  Farr  came  hurrying  in 
and  up  to  the  voting  place,  where  he  handed  his 
ballots  to  the  constable. 

"  Forward  your  ballots,  gentlemen,"  the  constable 
called  again,  and  then  announced  that  it  was  three 
o'clock  and  the  box  would  be  turned. 

After  a  minute  of  grace,  during  which  no  uncast 
ballot  was  offered,  the  box  containing  the  votes  for 
representative  was  emptied  upon  the  desk  and  the 
counting  by  the  authorized  officials  began,  while 
the  crowd  of  self -constititu ted  inspectors  pressed 
closer  and  craned  their  necks  to  see  which  pile  grew 
the  faster  as  the  names  of  Peck  and  Piper  were 
added  to  each. 

Since  he  had  become  assured  of  the  disaffection 
of  the  Colbys,  and  the  no  less  unaccountable 
absence  of  the  Burtons,  Levi  Piper  had  so  fully 
accepted  the  certainty  of  defeat  that  the  first  sharp 
pain  of  it  was  over  and  he  was  able  to  meet  with  a 


196  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

good  deal  of  calmness  the  ill-concealed  triumph  of 
enemies  and  the  sympathy  of  friends,  which  were 
shown  in  the  faces  of  each,  as  he  sauntered  from 
group  to  group. 

"Hev  they  got  them  votes  'baout  caounted?" 
some  one  asked  from  another  who  had  just  come 
from  the  townhouse. 

"  Pooty  nigh." 

"  Be  a  ch'ice  fust  time  ?  " 

"  D'  yas  —  hain't  none  scatterin'." 

"  Ary  chance  for  Piper  ?  " 

"  Daa  !  The  Colby s  all  turned  agin  him,  an'  the' 
hain't  one  o'  ol'  Beri's  tribe  ben  a-nigh." 

"  Gentlemen,  please  give  your  attention,"  the 
voice  of  the  constable  was  heard  issuing  from  the 
open  windows  above  the  hum  of  many  voices. 

The  whittlers  hastily  shut  and  pocketed  their 
knives,  the  loungers  in  the  grass  scrambled  to  their 
feet,  the  story-teller  left  his  tale  unfinished,  and  all 
made  haste  to  get  within  closer  range  of  the  speaker's 
voice. 

"  Hul  number  of  votes  cast,  tew  hundred  an'  one. 
Ne'ssary  for  a  ch'ice,  one  hundred  an'  one.  Of 
these,  Piper  hes  received  one  hundred  an'  one  — 
Peck,  one  -  -  " 

The  concluding  figures  were  drowned  in  a  tumul- 
tuous billow  of  cheers,  and,  as  it  subsided  in  an 
echo  of  belated  voices,  the  constable  announced 
what  every  one  knew. 


A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION  197 

"  And  you  have  made  ch'ice  of  Levi  Piper  to 
sarve  you  as  representative." 

Quite  dazed  and  scarcely  believing  his  ears  in  the 
confirmation  of  friendly  congratulations,  Levi  Piper 
was  hustled  into  the  townhouse,  and  mounted  upon 
a  seat  where  he  vainly  tried  to  recall  the  speech, 
once  well  conned,  but  now  forgotten,  useless,  and 
never  to  be  spoken.  He  managed  to  thank  his 
friends  in  a  few  stammering  words,  and  then  to 
deliver  to  their  free  raiding  all  things  eatable  and 
drinkable  that  the  huckster's  booth  still  held,  for 
such  was  the  custom  of  those  times,  and  one  which 
gave  quite  as  much  satisfaction  to  all  concerned, 
especially  to  the  successful  candidate,  as  does  the 
modern  reception. 

"  Well,  father  an'  mother,"  said  Malvina,  radiant 
with  smiles  and  the  glory  of  the  yellow  poplin  as 
she  met  her  happy  parents  at  the  door  upon  their 
return,  "  I  run  away  an'  got  married  tu  Tom  whilst 
you  was  gone,  but  you  'd  ort  tu  forgive  us,  seein'  'at 
you  've  got  the  'lection,  an'  it  was  Tom  an'  his 
folkses'  votes  done  it  for  you." 

"  What !  "  her  father  gasped,  sinking  into  a  chair 
and  making  no  opposition  to  Malvina  sitting  011  his 
knee.  "  You  an'  Tom  merried  ?  Him  an'  his  folks 
voted  for  me?  Wai,  I  swear!  everything  beats 
everything  else  tu-day !  No,  sir  ;  I  'm  almighty 
glad  you  be  merried  tu  Tom,  for  that  Andrew 
Colby 's  a  skunk  —  a  mean  skunk  !  " 


198  A  SEPTEMBER  ELECTION 

It  was  noticed  that  for  some  weeks  after  election 
Antoine  avoided  the  highways  and  public  places  in 
daytime ;  in  fact,  Uncle  Lisha's  shop  was  the  only 
place  where  he  appeared  abroad. 

"You  don't  want  to  let  that  ol'  Beri  Burton 
git  a  holt  on  ye,  Antwine,"  said  Uncle  Lisha  one 
evening  when  the  company  were  gathered  there. 
"They  say  he's  swore  tu  kill  ye  for  that  yarn 
you  told  him  'fore  'lection.  'T  was  pooty  tough,  an' 
I  do'  know  but  he  'd  ort  tu." 

"  Wai,  Ah  don'  care  for  me,"  Antoine  pro- 
tested, while  he  ground  the  tobacco  nervously  in 
his  palms.  "  An'  he  '11  ant  want  for  care,  too,  'cause 
hees  man 's  gat  de  'lected,  an'  he  '11  was  square, 
heesself.  Oh,  but  Ah  tol'  you,  Ah '11  was  come 
pooty  nigh  for  beat  it,  honly  for  dat  gal.  She  was 
marry  more  vote  as  Ah  could  scare." 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS. 

"  WAL,  I  do'  know  but  what  they  be  pretty  tough 
on  ol'  folks  wi'  short  laigs  an'  petticoats,"  Sam 
Lovel  soliloquized,  with  unwonted  sympathy  for  his 
mother-in-law,  as  he  paused  at  the  threshold  after 
climbing  the  steep  back  stairs,  and  looked  down  at 
them,  considering  the  helpful  addition  of  a  hand 
rail.  "  Wai,  sometime,  mebby,"  and  so  giving  the 
matter  present  dismissal,  he  entered  the  kitchen 
with  his  carefully  borne  burden,  an  improvised 
basket  of  birch  bark  filled  with  raspberries. 

"  My  sakes  alive,  where  did  you  git  them  ?  "  cried 
Huldah,  dropping  her  sewing  upon  her  lap  as  he 
set  them  on  the  table  before  her.  "  Jest  look,  Aunt 
Jerushy.  Mother,  did  you  ever  see  bigger  rosbar- 
ies  ?  " 

Sam,  till  now  having  no  eyes  for  any  one  but  his 
wife,  became  aware  of  the  dumpy,  inert  figure  of 
Mrs.  Purington  sitting  in  the  easiest  rocking  chair, 
where  the  coolest  draught  of  south  wind  came 
through  the  open  door. 

"  Why,  mother  Purington,  you  here  ?  Hain't  it 
cur'ous.  I  was  jest  a-thinkin  'baout  ye  as  I  come 
up  the  steps." 

"  An'  naow  I  s'pose  you  're  thinkin'  the  rest  on 't, 


200  RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS 

'  the  devil 's  allers  nighest,'  an'  so  fo'th,"  she  said, 
in  an  injured  tone,  as  she  hoisted  herself  ponder- 
ously from  the  chair  and  waddled  over  to  the  table. 
"  Hm-m-m,  yes,  tol'able  decent  baries,  but  they 
hain't  so  big  as  tame  rosbaries,  the  biggest  on  'em 
hain't." 

She  searched  her  waist  for  the  longest  pin  it  held 
and  spitted  the  largest  and  ripest  berry  upon  it. 
"  Naow  that  hain't  nothin'  tu  a  tame  rosbary,  tu 
look  at  nor  tu  eat,"  and  she  tested  the  last  quality 
with  a  critical  smack. 

"  Proper  nice  they  be,"  said  Aunt  Jerusha,  with 
hearty  approval. 

"  They  'd  ortu  be,  for  a  man  tu  spend  his  time 
a-pickin'  of  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Purington,  impaling 
another  choice  berry  and  casting  a  severe  glance  at 
Sam  and  Huldah,  who  seemed  as  unconscious  as  the 
berry  of  the  thrust. 

"  I  'm  dreadful  glad  you  did,  Samwel,"  said  Hul- 
dah. "  Where  did  you  find  'em  ?  " 

"  Over  where  we  chopped  two  years  ago.  I  come 
on  tu  'em  when  I  was  a-lookin'  for  the  young  cat- 
tle, an'  the'  was  more  'n  you  can  shake  a  stick  at  in 
a  fortni't.  I  jest  made  me  a  basket  and  went  at  'em. 
Antwine's  womern  's  in  there  with  her  hull  litter, 
a-pickin'  wi'  both  hands.  You  women  folks  got  tu 
hyper  'f  you  want  to  git  any  for  sass  an'  dryin'." 

Huldah  held  at  arm's  length  the  garment  she  was 
making,  considering  its  proportions  and  the  ques- 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS  201 

tion  of  berry-picking  together,  yet  separately,  be- 
fore she  answered. 

"  Why,  I  do'  know  but  what  we  might  go  to-mor- 
row, the  hull  toot  on  us.  Don't  them  sleeves  look 
long,  or  don't  they  ?  We  can  shet  up  the  house  an' 
all  go,  an'  not  git  no  dinner.  Come  here,  Bub !  " 

"Haow  long  be  you  goin'  to  Bub  that  boy?" 
Sam  asked  impatiently,  and  then,  "  Where  is  Bub, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  Haow  long  be  you  ?  "  Huldah  asked,  laughing. 

If  Sam  had  listened  he  need  not  have  asked  the 
whereabouts  of  the  child,  for  his  shrill  voice  could 
be  heard  coming  from  the  shop,  mingled  with  the 
deep  tones  of  Uncle  Lisha,  and  the  regular  strokes 
of  the  hammer  on  awl  and  pegs.  And  now  the  two 
entered  the  kitchen,  the  child  in  response  to  his 
mother's  repeated  call,  Uncle  Lisha  to  learn  the 
cause  of  the  unusual  commotion. 

"What's  all  the  haowdelow  abaout?"  he  de- 
manded, regarding  the  company  under  his  lifted 
glasses. 

"  Oh,  it 's  Bub's  sleeves  an'  rosbaryin',"  Huldah 
answered.  "  Come  here,  Sammy,  an'  let  mammy 
see.  Wai,  there,  what  it  shrinks  wi'  washin'  '11  make 
it  all  right,"  she  declared  triumphantly,  after  meas- 
uring the  sleeve  of  the  check  apron  by  the  child's 
arm. 

"  I  did  n't  s'pect  nothin'  but  what  you  'd  spilte 
it,"  said  her  mother,  in  some  disappointment. 


202  RASPBERRYING  IN    DANVIS 

"  An'  we  're  all  goin'  rosbaryin'  to-morrer,"  Hul- 
dali  explained  to  Uncle  Lisha.  "  Sam  says  the'  is 
sights.  See  what  he  fetched.  Hain't  them  beau- 
ties?" 

"  Not  ekal  tu  tame  ones,"  Mrs.  Purington  pro- 
tested as  she  speared  another  fine  specimen  and 
conveyed  it  to  her  mouth. 

"  If  you  '11  pick  'em  over  we'll  hev  'em  for  sup- 
per, Aunt  Jerushy,"  said  Huldah. 

"  They  '11  need  lots  o'  sugar,"  said  Mrs.  Puring- 
ton ;  "  they  're  turrible  sour." 

"  An'  we  've  got  lots  'at  was  made  a  purpose  tu 
sweeten  things,"  her  daughter  cheerfully  declared ; 
"  an'  as  I  was  a-sayin'  we  're  all  a-goin'  to-morrer  ; 
you  an'  Aunt  Jerushy  —  an'  you  '11  go,  won't  ye, 
mother?" 

Mrs.  Purington  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "  I 
don't  b'lieve  I  feel  well  enough  tu  stan'  the  traip- 
sin'  an'  the  heat  an'  the  muskeeters,  an'  ju'  like  as 
not  run  on  tu  a  hornet's  nest,  an'  I  should  n't  won- 
der if  it  up  an'  thundered  by  tu-morrer  an'  give  us 
a  soakin'  if  the  lightnin'  don't  strike  us.  Sis 
might  go,  mebby." 

"  Good  airth  an*  seas  !  Yes,  I  '11  go  if  I  c'n  git 
the  wax  off  'm  my  fingers  so  's  't  the  baries  won't 
stick  tu  'em.  An'  mother,  she  '11  go,"  said  Uncle 
Lisha,  "  she  hain't  so  temptin'  to  muskeeters  an' 
wasps  as  what  you  be,  Eunice.  I  do'  know  'baout 
lightnin',  but  she  won't  water-soak." 


RASPBERRYING  IN   DANVIS  203 

"  Mebby  Briggses  folks  an'  Hillses  would  luf  tu 
go,"  Huldah  suggested. 

"  Wai,  if  Gran'ther  's  goin'  I  don't  want  tu," 
Mrs.  Purington  declared. 

"  Send  word  you  're  a-goin',"  said  Sam. 

"  Me  want  to  go,  mammy.  Can't  me  go,  mam- 
my ?  "  pleaded  the  child. 

"  Of  course,  mammy's  man  's  goin'  tu  ta'  care  of 
mammy,"  his  mother  said,  smoothing  the  curly  pate 
with  her  fingers  and  stooping  to  kiss  the  upturned 
earnest  face. 

Word  was  sent  to  the  chosen  neighbors,  and  a 
general  movement  of  the  combined  force  upon  the 
berry  patch  was  planned  for  the  next  day. 

If  these  worthy  people  had  deemed  themselves 
such  special  objects  of  divine  favor  that  they  would 
be  given  the  weather  they  prayed  for,  they  could 
hardly  have  suggested  to  infinite  wisdom  any  im- 
provement on  the  day,  which  they  thankfully  ac- 
cepted as  a  happy  chance,  not  as  one  made  to  their 
order.  Not  one  of  Mrs.  Purington's  thunder  heads 
lifted  its  pearl  and  silver  dome  above  the  green 
barriers  of  the  mountains ;  the  only  semblance  of 
clouds  were  snow-white  shreds,  drifting  across  the 
blue  sky  like  thistledown,  dissolving  in  the  blue  ex- 
panse, fleeting  as  their  shadows  on  the  green  earth 
beneath.  It  was  a  north  wind  that  blew  these  films 
of  vapor  across  the  azure  dome,  and  it  tempered 
the  rays  of  the  July  sun  to  a  degree  of  moderation 


204  RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS 

that  tempted  forth  even  Mrs.  Purington.  Shortness 
of  breath  and  the  presence  of  her  declared  enemy, 
Gran'ther  Hill,  kept  her  with  the  rear  of  the 
straggling  column,  where  she  claimed  the  frequent 
assistance  of  her  daughter  Polly,  and  received  en- 
couragement from  Aunt  Jerusha. 

Now  the  company  halted  beside  the  little  brook 
that  divided  the  open  fields  from  the  frowsy,  half- 
cleared  border  of  the  forest,  like  a  crinkled  sil- 
ver thread  beaded  with  amber  pools  and  carelessly 
dropped  between  pasture  and  woodland.  Its  liquid 
music,  ever  slightly  changing  with  the  rolling  of  a 
pebble,  the  sway  of  a  dipping  branch  or  the  move- 
ment or  stranding  of  some  drifting  twig,  the  plunge 
of  a  frog  or  scurry  of  a  scared  trout,  chimed  with 
the  jangled  melody  of  the  bobolinks  on  one  side  and 
the  tentative  fluting  of  the  hermit  thrush  on  the 
other,  distinctive  voices  of  field  and  forest. 

Some  one  dipped  up  a  tin  pailful  of  cold  water, 
and  Sam  was  shaping  a  dipper  of  birch  bark  with 
a  cleft  stick  for  a  handle,  when  Mrs.  Purington  ar- 
rived at  the  brookside  with  her  youthful  and  aged 
escorts. 

"  Dear  me,  Sis !  I  hev  got  tu  se'  daown  an'  rest 
me !  "  she  panted,  surveying  the  ground  critically, 
and  pointing  to  a  cradle  knoll  where  native  winter- 
green  and  foreign  herd  grass  crowded  each  other  for 
supremacy.  "  Sis,  you  poke  in  there,  an'  see  if  that 
hain't  a  snake  a-wigglin'  the  grass." 


RASPBERRYING   IN  DANVIS  205 

"Law  sakes,  Eunice,  the'  hain't  no  snakes  't 
would  hurt  ye,"  Aunt  Jerusha,  already  comfortably 
seated,  said  encouragingly. 

"  I  don't  care,  it  'd  scare  me  tu  death  to  see  one  ! 
It  allers  did !  " 

"  I  don't  like  snakes  nuther,  an'  I  wish  't  one 
would  git  a  mou'ful  on  ye,"  Gran'ther  Hill  growled 
grimly,  setting  his  toothless  jaws  till  nose  and  chin 
almost  met.  "  By  the  Lord  Harry,  the  'd  be  one  sick 
sarpent !  " 

If  Mrs.  Purington  heard  him,  she  affected  ignor- 
ance of  his  unpleasant  words,  as  she  seated  herself 
upon  the  knoll  when  Sis  had  thrashed  it  with  a 
stick,  and  fanned  herself  with  her  apron,  blowing 
a  stertorous  counter  blast  from  her  puffed  lips  while 
she  waited  her  turn  at  the  passing  pail  and  dip- 
per. 

"  When  you  kinder  come  tu  think  on't,"  said 
Joseph,  with  a  view  to  giving  the  conversation  a 
more  pleasant  turn,  "  it  seems  's  'ough  it  was  kinder 
cur'us  'at  the'  wa'n't  no  ugly  snakes  here,  that  is  to 
say,  not  rael  pizen  ugly,  I  mean.  Eels  is  abaout  the 
wust  to  look  at,  erless  't  is  mud  turkles." 

"Mud  turkles!  You  must  be  a  cussed  smart 
boy,"  said  his  father,  with  withering  contempt. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  I  was  kinder  takin'  in  all  sorts  o* 
riptyles,"  Joseph  explained,  "crockerdiles,  ye  know, 
an'  scorpiuns,  an'  hippy  Thomases,  an'  bats,  an'  — 
an'  — 


206  RASPBERRYING   IN   DANVIS 

"  Clams  an'  crows,  mebby,"  his  father  suggested, 
with  bitter  sarcasm. 

"  We  hed  ortu  be  thankful  'at  we  live  in  a  free 
and  enlighted  ken  try,"  Solon  Briggs  remarked, 
"  an'  not  in  metropical  desarts,  where  boar-construc- 
tors an'  animal  condors,  an'  tigers,  an'  centerpedes 
haowl  an'  roam  at  large  as  frequent  as  they  be  in  a 
mennygery,  only  not  incarterated  in  waggins." 

"  There 's  one  advantage,  —  you  don'  haf ter  pay 
a  quarter  tu  see  'em,"  said  Sam. 

"  No  quarter  give  or  took  an'  childern  throwed  in 
where  there's  crockerdyles,"  said  Solon,  with  un- 
wonted levity. 

"  There  was  here  oncte  Injins  an'  Tories  an' 
Hessians,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill,  "  an'  would  be  yit 
if  it  hed  n't  ha'  b'en  for  John  Stark,  an'  Ethan 
Allen,  an'  Seth  Warner,  an'  Peleg  Sunderlan',  an' 
George  Washin'ton,  an'  'mongst  us." 

"  Oh,  Sam  Hill,  Ticonderogue  an'  Bennin't'n  's 
comin',"  Joseph  groaned  under  his  breath,  and  then 
audibly  suggested,  "  It  mos'  seems  'ough  we  'd 
better  be  a-moggin'  if  we're  a-goin'  tu  git  many 
baries." 

"  Oh,  say,  father,  le'  's  set  here  an'  hear  Gran'ther 
tell  'baout  fightin',"  young  Josiah  whispered  ear- 
nestly. "  It 's  lots  more  fun  'an  the  plaguey  baries." 

But  the  inclination  of  the  majority  was  adverse, 
and  he  unwillingly  attached  himself  to  the  rear  as 
the  party  advanced  to  the  berry  patch,  whither 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS  207 

Maria  Hill,  Jane  Briggs,  and  Huldah  had  already 
proceeded,  and  where  glimpses  of  their  green  and 
white  sunbonnets  and  their  shoulders  could  be  seen 
as  they  arose  from  the  thickets  of  raspberry  bushes 
or  emerged  from  clumps  of  lusty  young  saplings. 

Many  acres  were  covered  by  briers  and  saplings, 
with  which  nature  was  hiding  the  ghastly  wounds 
inflicted  by  axe  and  fire,  here  and  there  embroider- 
ing the  green  veil  with  white  splashes  of  fireweed 
and  pink  sprigs  of  willow  herb.  Bees  fared  busily 
to  and  from  these,  and  butterflies  drifted  idly  among 
them  like  vagrant  blossoms. 

On  the  far  side,  the  stately  wall  of  virgin  forest 
stood,  a  palisade  of  gray  trunks,  coped  with  decid- 
uous trees  and  evergreen  verdure.  The  bushy  tract 
was  thridded  by  a  labyrinth  of  cattle  paths,  along 
which  the  party  scattered  singly  and  in  couples, 
each  engaging  according  to  individual  zest  in  the 
holiday  labor  that  had  brought  them  there. 

Josiah  kept  close  to  his  grandfather  in  the  hope 
that  the  environment  might  suggest  some  story  of 
bush-fighting  or  hunting  adventure,  and  both  forgot 
berry-picking  when  they  flushed  a  brood  of  par- 
tridges and  watched  the  young  birds,  no  bigger 
than  robins,  fluttering  away  in  divers  directions,  as 
strong  of  wing  as  July  woodcock,  and  then  listened 
while  the  mother  softly  sounded  her  gathering  call. 
Sam  was  more  intent  on  noting  whither  the  full-fed 
bees  flew  than  on  filling  his  basket.  Uncle  Lisha, 


208  RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS 

more  industrious,  but  awkward,  wasted  much  time 
in  comparing  the  contents  of  his  basket  with  that 
of  Aunt  Jerusha's,  till  he  bethought  him  of  the  old 
trick  of  boyhood  and  covered  the  bottom  of  his  pail 
with  a  thick  layer  of  leaves.  Solon  and  Joseph 
fraternized  on  the  basis  of  doing  as  little  as  possible. 
Therefore  the  burden  of  the  fruit  harvest  fell  upon 
the  womankind,  to  whose  nimble  fingers  it  came 
more  naturally  than  to  the  clumsy  digits  of  their 
lords,  which  seemed,  more  than  ever,  all  thumbs. 
Even  Mrs.  Purington's  hand  flew  with  swift  regu- 
larity back  and  forth  between  bush  and  basket, 
freighted  with  berries  that  she  confessed  scarcely 
inferior  to  some  she  had  seen  in  the  village  garden 
of  a  bloomer,  and  became  so  interested  in  securing 
them  that  she  grew  indifferent  to  attacks  of  mosqui- 
toes, and  lost  her  fear  of  wasps  and  snakes. 

Polly  Purington  and  Ruby  Hill  exchanged  girlish 
confidences,  but  kept  their  fingers  as  busy  as  their 
tongues.  Huldah,  with  her  boy  clinging  to  her  skirt, 
and  the  wives  of  Solon  and  Joseph  close  at  hand, 
led  the  van  well  up  toward  the  old  woods,  where 
the  bushes  bent  lowest  with  their  burden  of  red, 
ripe  berries. 

Suddenly  Huldah  became  aware  of  the  stooping 
figure  of  a  woman  at  a  little  distance,  who,  becom- 
ing erect,  disclosed  beneath  the  wide-brimmed  straw 
hat  the  broad,  brown  face  of  Ursule  Bissette,  ex- 
pressing first  surprise,  then  annoyance  quickly 


RASPBERRYING   IN   DANVIS  209 

masked  with  effusive  good-humor,  as  she  gave  greet- 
ing in  a  deep,  masculine  voice :  — 

"  Good  mawny,  Mees  Lovel.  Ee  naise  mawny, 
ant  ee  ?  You  fan'  plenty  berree  ?  " 

"  Good  mornin',  Ursuly.  Yes,  we  find  sights  on 
'em,  an'  the  further  we  go  the  thicker  they  be." 

"  Ah,  ee  ant  mos'  any  dees  way,"  pointing  to- 
ward the  woods;  and  then  unaware  that  Huldah 
had  seen  the  large,  nearly  filled  milk  pail  before  it 
was  hastily  hidden  behind  a  thicket,  "  Me,  mah 
chillen  ant  gat  mos'  any  lee'l  one,  oup  dere,  all  dis 
morny.  Me  try  for  gat  few  for  sell  on  de  village  for 
bought  me  clo's  for  mah  chillen,  mais,  me  ant 
gat  honly  tree,  four  quart  mos',"  and  she  sighed 
deeply. 

"  Why,  you  can  get  a  bushel  of  'em  down  here 
'most  anywheres,"  said  Huldah,  exhibiting  her  half- 
filled  basket  in  confirmation.  "  But  I  'm  goin'  up 
nigher  the  woods  to  see  what  the'  is,  for  I  'm  coming 
to-morrer  wi'  a  bigger  dish." 

"  Oh,  don*  you  go  no  f  urder,  Mees  Lovel,"  said 
Ursule,  assuming  a  most  horrified  expression,  "  dere 
was  up  dere,  w'at  you  call  —  awhh  —  bear!  Oh, 
hoi'  hugly!  Me  hear  it  gro'l  lak  t'under!  Mah 
chillen  hear  it  too,  if  you  ant  b'lieve.  Pierre, 
Matilde,  Joe,  lee'l  Antoine ! "  she  called  lustily. 
"  Viens  ici,  fore  bear  gat  you  !  " 

A  girl  and  three  boys  varying  from  ten  to  four- 
teen years  old  appeared  from  various  quarters.  Their 


210  RASPBERRYING  IN   DANVIS 

mother  spoke  to  them  rapidly  in  French  and  then 
asked :  — 

"  Ant  you  hear  some  bear  in  de  hwood,  lee'l  whal 
'go?  Hem?" 

The  boys  nodded  a  shamefaced  assent,  poking 
the  mould  with  their  naked  toes  and  casting  furtive 
glances  at  Huldah,  but  the  girl,  older  and  better 
trained,  answered  boldly,  looking  straight  at  her 
mother :  — 

"  Yas,  hear  two  bear  —  mos'  see  it,"  and  volun- 
teered further  additions  to  the  terrors  of  the  place, 
"  an*  un  bete  a  grandcue.  Oh,  ee  squeal,  hugly  !  " 

Ursule  turned  triumphantly  to  Huldah.  "  You 
see,  mah  chillen  ant  never  tol'  lie.  You  go,  bear 
keel  you,  prob'ly !  " 

Huldah  regarded  her  with  an  amused,  half  con- 
temptuous smile. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  the'  won't  no  bears  tech  us  'f  we 
don't  meddle  wi'  'em.  I  'm  a-goin'  to  resk  it,  any- 
ways. Come,  Marier,  and  Mis'  Briggs  !  " 

"  Oh,  ee  heat  you  lee'l  boy,  me  tol'  you.  You 
see,  bambye  !  Me  goin'.  Come,  chillen,  'fore  bear 
ketch  you  !  "  and  marshalling  her  brood  before  her 
she  took  a  divergent  path  down  the  long  slope. 

"  Le  's  go  back,"  said  Maria  Hill,  who,  with  Jane 
Briggs,  had  heard  the  conversation.  "  Don't  you 
see  she  's  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  'd  better,"  Mrs.  Briggs  urged. 

"  Sho !    Be  you  goin'  to  let  that  critter  scare  ye 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS  211 

to  death  wi'  her  bugaboo  stories  ?  "  said  Huldah 
scornfully.  "  Could  n't  ye  see  she  was  lyin',  an'  her 
pail  more  'n  half  full  o'  baries  ?  Gone  ?  She  jest 
scooted  back  up  there  as  soon  as  she  thought  she 
was  aout  o'  sight,  but  I  see  her  straw  hat  floppin' 
along  behind  the  bushes.  All  she  wants  is  to  scare 
us  away  from  the  best  pickin'.  Come  on !  " 

Thus  assured,  her  companions  followed  her, 
though  somewhat  timidly,  Maria  declaring,  "I 
can't  help  feelin'  skeery  after  what  she  said." 

Presently  Huldah,  leading  her  boy  by  the  hand, 
came  into  the  old  wood  road,  its  ruts  dried  into  stony 
beds  of  dry  rivulets  and  half-healed  scars  of  sled 
runners  showing  on  the  naked  roots.  Its  low  border 
of  ferns  was  overtopped  by  a  hedge  of  heavy-laden 
raspberry  bushes  and  blackberry  brambles  not  yet 
out  of  bloom  that  promised  an  abundant  later  fruit 
harvest. 

They  followed  the  rough  path  but  a  little  way 
before  their  baskets  were  filled,  and  as  they  halted 
to  rest  before  returning  Huldah  spied  a  broken  sled, 
a  forlorn,  deserted  wreck,  with  its  beam  pins  on  one 
side  broken  and  one  runner  sprawled  flatwise,  half 
buried  in  dead  leaves  and  overgrown  with  ferns,  and 
a  sapling  of  two  years'  growth  springing  up  through 
the  socket  that  held  the  roller. 

"  Wai,  there,  that 's  what  I  call  shiftless,  whoever 
left  it  a-layin'  here,"  she  declared,  with  a  slight 
disgust.  "  If  't  was  Samwel,  he  ortu  be  ashamed. 


212  RASPBERRYING  IN   DANVIS 

None  o'  the  irons  saved  —  wood  shoes,  though.  And 
the  stakes  left  in,  tew,  good  hardhack  ones,  sound 
as  ever  they  was." 

She  drew  one  from  its  socket,  and  was  examining 
it  when  the  attention  of  all  was  attracted  by  an  out- 
cry of  alarm  that  suddenly  arose  just  beyond  the 
turn  of  the  road.  Then  Antoine's  children  broke 
into  view,  running  at  top  speed,  the  long-legged  girl 
in  the  lead,  the  mother  crowding  the  rear  at  a  re- 
markable pace  for  one  of  her  build. 

"  Tryin'  another  plan  to  scare  us  off,"  Huldah 
laughed,  after  the  first  surprise.  But  when  the  girl 
dashed  by  pale  and  gasping,  her  brothers  closely 
following,  catching  their  breath  in  broken  sobs,  and 
Ursule  pounding  along  at  a  pace  that  shook  dis- 
jointed fragments  of  prayer  from  her  lips  at  every 
step,  it  was  evident  that  all  were  impelled  by  an 
unfeigned  terror. 

An  instant  later  its  cause  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a  great  gaunt  she-bear,  her  beady  little  eyes 
twinkling  viciously,  her  white  teeth  gleaming  out  of 
her  open  jaws,  and  her  ragged,  faded  coat  flapping 
in  jerky  undulations  as  she  plunged  onward  at  an 
awkward  gallop. 

Huldah  instinctively  drew  her  boy  behind  her 
as  she  took  a  step  backward,  and  swung  the  sled 
stake  above  her  shoulder,  for  there  was  no  time  nor 
way  for  flight.  Just  as  he  passed  her,  little  An- 
toine  tripped  upon  a  naked  root,  and  his  mother, 


RASPBERRYING   IN  DANVIS  213 

close  at  his  heels,  plunged  headlong  sprawling 
over  him,  raining  a  shower  of  red  berries  far  be- 
fore her. 

The  bear  in  hot  pursuit  was  almost  upon  her 
prostrate  foes,  when  Huldah,  putting  every  ounce 
of  strength  in  the  blow,  brought  down  the  heavy 
cudgel  across  the  beast's  back  with  such  paralyzing 
effect  that  the  hinder  parts  crippled  down  helplessly. 
Down  came  the  club  again  on  the  skull,  cutting 
short  a  whining  growl  of  pain  and  rage,  and  the 
bear  sank  down  with  outstretched  paws  and  relaxed 
jaws  almost  within  reach  of  Ursule's  feet  that  were 
wildly  hammering  the  ground  in  a  last  desperate 
effort  of  defense. 

Huldah  dealt  repeated  blows  upon  the  head  until 
the  bulging  eyes  stared  fixedly  and  there  was  no 
answering  quiver  of  muscles  when  the  stroke  fell ; 
and  then,  her  own  strength  almost  as  completely 
gone,  she  dropped  her  weapon  and  sank  trembling 
to  the  ground,  clasping  her  dazed  child  convulsively 
to  her  breast. 

At  the  first  appearance  of  the  bear,  Huldah's 
companions,  who  were  seated  on  the  standing  rave 
of  the  broken  sled,  arose  simultaneously  and  at- 
tempted a  retrograde  movement  into  the  bushes ; 
but  Jane  Briggs's  heel  caught  on  the  rave,  and  she 
fell  prone  upon  her  back  into  a  bed  of  ferns,  carry- 
ing Maria  down  with  her  and  plunging  both  of  her 
elbows  into  the  two  baskets  of  berries,  and  there 


214  RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS 

the  two  women  lay,  discreetly  silent  for  fear  of  giv- 
ing their  whereabouts  to  the  enemy. 

When  Ursule  became  assured  that  she  was  not 
in  the  clutches  of  her  pursuer,  she  rolled  herself 
off  her  half -smothered  son,  and  grasping  him  by  the 
arm  as  she  regained  her  feet,  tore  down  the  road 
at  break-neck  speed,  uttering  discordant  shrieks, 
to  which  Antoine,  the  younger,  piped  a  shrill  ac- 
companiment. 

When  the  outcry  grew  faint  in  the  distance 
Maria  Hill  called  cautiously  :  — 

"  Huldy,  Huldy,  be  you  killed  ?  " 

"  No,  I  hain't,  Marier,  but  I  b'lieve  the  bear  is," 
Huldah  answered,  in  a  voice  between  laughing  and 
crying. 

"  What !  you  don't  say  !    What  killed  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  s'pose  I  did,  erless  he  died  o'  somethin' 
sudden.  It 's  a  she  one,  I  guess.  Sam  says  they  're 
ugly  when  they  've  got  young  ones." 

"You  killed  her?  Why,  Huldy  Lovel,  what  be 
you  talkin'  ?  Be  you  crazy  ?  " 

Maria  and  Jane  scrambled  to  their  knees  and 
stared  in  new  alarm  at  Huldah  sitting  limply  on 
the  wrecked  sled,  with  the  boy  in  her  arms. 

"  The  critter 's  gone  arter  them  French  !  That  is 
what !  I  heered  'em  yellin'  bloody  murder,"  said 
Jane  Briggs. 

Huldah  bent  forward,  looking  fixedly  at  the  mo- 
tionless form  of  her  late  antagonist. 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS  215 

"  No,  she  's  dead.  There 's  flies  lit  on  her  eyes 
and  flyin'  into  her  raaouth.  Come  an'  look!  Ugh  ! 
don't  she  look  ugly  yet  ?  " 

Huldah  stood  up  and  her  comrades  came  forward 
timidly. 

"  An'  you  killed  her.  Haow  did  you  ?  "  Maria 
asked,  still  incredulous. 

"  She  was  most  on  tu  Antwine's  womern,  an'  I 
give  her  a  lick  ont'  the  back  wi'  that  ol'  stake,  an' 
somehaow  it  stopped  her.  An'  then  I  give  it  to  her 
with  all  vengeance  over  the  head  till  she  lay  still. 
Oh,  I  don't  know  haow  I  done  it,  only,  thinkin'  o' 
that  womern  an'  her  young  uns !  " 

"  Oh,  oh,  Hu-Huldy  Lovel !  You  be  the  be-beat- 
in'est  of  all  women  'at  ever  I  see,  so  there !  "  Then, 
breaking  down  completely  after  struggling  through 
this  tribute  of  praise,  Maria  hugged  Huldah  and 
wept  upon  her  shoulder,  while  Jane  Briggs,  with 
more  self-restraint,  wiped  her  eyes  upon  her  juice- 
soaked  sleeve. 

Presently  the  men  came  running  up  the  road, 
Sam,  Joseph  and  Solon  in  the  lead,  for  Ursule, 
meeting  them,  had  told  a  doleful  story  of  their 
wives'  peril  and  her  own  miraculous  escape,  which 
she  attributed  to  the  interposition  of  the  several 
saints  to  whom  she  had  prayed. 

The  three  husbands  were  greatly  relieved  when 
they  counted  their  due  allotment  of  wives,  and  Sam, 
saw  his  boy  under  Huldah's  wing,  all  standing  un- 


216  RASPBERRYING  IN   DANVIS 

harmed  by  the  roadside ;  and  then  all  stood  stock- 
still  in  dumb  amazement  before  the  dead  bear. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  scold  you  some  for  leavin'  the 
sled  so  shif'less,"  said  Huldah,  when  the  other 
women  had  told  the  story  of  her  exploit  and  shown 
the  blood-stained,  fur-clotted  stake  in  evidence, 
"  but  now  I  know  you  left  it  just  right  an'  in  the 
right  place." 

44  The  sled  ?  Why,  that 's  the  one  Antwine  bor- 
rered  of  Joel  Bartlett,  when  he  was  gittin'  aout  the 
treetops  I  give  him.  He  piled  on  sech  a  load,  he 
broke  daown." 

Sam,  Joseph  and  Solon  skinned  the  bear,  and  as 
they  bore  the  shaggy  trophy  down  the  road,  each 
with  his  wife  beside  him,  and  little  Sammy  astride 
his  father's  shoulders,  Solon,  for  the  first  time  re- 
marking the  crimson  stains  upon  his  spouse,  asked : 

"  Why,  Mis'  Briggs,  have  you  likewise  brewed 
your  hands  and  face  in  ursuline  blood  and  be'n 
a-wadin'  elbow  deep  in  gore  ?  " 

While  she  was  denying  the  flattering  impeach- 
ment and  explaining  the  harmless  nature  of  the 
apparent  battle  stains,  Uncle  Lisha  met  them  with 
a  roar  of  welcome,  and  Gran'ther  Hill,  after  be- 
stowing unstinted  praise  on  Huldah,  marched  at 
the  head  of  the  party  whistling  toothlessly  his 
favorite  military  air. 

At  last  the  whole  company  was  gathered  again 
by  the  brook,  with  the  addition  of  Ursule  Bissette 


RASPBERRYING  IN  DANVIS  217 

and  her  children,  among  whom  she  sat  dejectedly, 
mourning  the  loss  of  her  berries  and  the  discovery 
of  the  richest  part  of  the  field  by  these  intrusive 
Bostonais. 

44  Met' ink,  Mis'  Lovel,  you  ought  for  give  me 
half  dat  bear,"  she  whined  dolefully,  "  'cause,  you 
see,  me  poor  hwomans  lose  mos'  all  mah  berree  for 
dat  bear,  an',  you  see,  if  't  ant  for  me  you  ant  keel 
it  an'  gat  de  baounty,  prob'ly." 

"  It  kinder  seems  's  'ough,"  said  Joseph,  break- 
ing the  silence  which  followed  this  audacious  de- 
mand, "  's  if  Mis'  Antwine  hed  ortu  be  thankful 
the  bear  did  n't  git  her." 

No  one  seemed  to  recognize  the  justice  of  the 
claim  except  Huldah,  who  set  forth  her  view  of  it 
to  Sam. 

44  Why,  yes,  I  had  n't  thought  on 't.  But,  you  see, 
she  was  sort  o'  bait,  a-fetchin'  the  bear  right  tu  me 
'f  I  did  n't  ral'y  want  no  bear.  I  guess  I  ortu  give 
her  a  leetle  suthin'  if  I  do  git  the  baounty." 

44  By  the  Lord  Harry!  "cried  Gran'ther  Hill, 
glowering  at  Mrs.  Purington  and  smiling  grimly 
upon  Huldah,  44 1  don't  see,  Eunice  Borden,  haow 
you  an'  Pur'nt'n  ever  come  tu  have  that  gal.  She 
hain't  none  like  nary  one  on  ye.  But  then  you  can't 
never  tell.  Jozeff  don't  take  arter  me  ner  yet  his 
mother.  Come,  le's  all  go  hum." 


THE  BUTTLES  GALS 

THE  failure  of  Bascom,  the  new  storekeeper  at 
the  Forge  Village,  fell  upon  none  of  his  victims 
more  heavily  than  upon  those  ripened  spinsters  who 
pronounced  their  name  as  it  was  spelled  —  But- 
tolph  —  but  who  were  known  to  all  their  townfolks 
as  the  "  Buttles  gals."  They  were  tailoresses,  who 
made  the  clothes  of  half  the  male  inhabitants  of 
Danvis,  sometimes  at  their  own  home,  and  some- 
times at  that  of  their  employer.  A  few  Danvis 
people  who  had  become  tainted  with  aristocratic 
ideas  had  their  clothes  made  by  a  tailor  in  Ver- 
gennes.  A  larger  number,  who  were  free  from  such 
high  notions,  had  theirs  made  entirely  by  their  own 
women  folks,  who  treasured  almost  as  heirlooms 
paper  patterns  of  trousers,  waistcoats,  and  coats,  by 
which  the  various  garments  were  cut,  with  occa- 
sional variations  to  conform  somewhat  to  the 
changes  of  fashion.  When  Mrs.  Gove  lost  the 
pattern  of  her  husband's  trousers  she  put  him  to 
that  use,  laying  him  down  on  the  cloth  spread  out 
on  the  floor  and  marking  around  his  legs  with  a 
"bit  of  chalk,  but  the  completed  result  was  not  a 
sartorial  triumph,  and  the  innovation  was  not  fol- 
lowed. Exclusive  of  the  few  who  employed  the 


THE   BUTTLES  GALS  219 

fashionable  tailor  and  the  many  who  employed  no 
tailor,  the  Buttolphs  found  customers  enough  to  give 
them  a  comfortable  living  and  something  to  lay  by 
for  a  rainy  day.  Now,  through  confidence  in  an  un- 
scrupulous adventurer,  these  savings  were  all  gone 
as  utterly  and  hopelessly  as  if  consumed  by  fire. 
It  was  two  months  or  more  since  the  blow  had  fallen, 
but  the  two  women  still  felt  stunned  by  it.  They 
went  mechanically  about  their  work,  as  if  in  a 
dream,  with  a  dull,  hopeless  expectancy  of  awaken- 
ing to  a  less  hard  reality. 

"  I  don't  see  what  makes  folks  want  to  be  so 
wicked,"  said  Lydia,  the  elder  sister,  as  she  ran  the 
hissing  goose  along  a  seam.  She  was  a  thin  little 
woman,  so  short  of  stature  that  she  had  to  stand  on 
tiptoe  to  reach  the  shoulders  of  her  tall  customers 
when  she  measured  them.  The  flush  of  youth  had 
faded  from  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  but  there  was  an 
afterglow  of  kindly  light  shining  in  her  gray  eyes 
that  warmed  one's  heart  more  than  the  brighter 
glances  of  her  sister's  black  eyes,  though  the  em- 
bers of  youth  still  shone  beside  the  corkscrew  curls 
that  dangled  from  each  of  Nancy's  temples. 

"  What  makes  folks  want  to  be  sech  fools  ? " 
said  Nancy,  tossing  her  curls  and  twitching  at  the 
needle  which  came  reluctantly  through  the  stout 
"  full "  cloth. 

"You  mean  us?  "  Lydia  asked. 

"  Yes,  or  anybody  that  '11  go  an'  trus'  anybody 


220  THE   BUTTLES  GALS 

that  they  don't  know  no  more  abaout  'an  we  did 
abaout  that  Bascom." 

Lydia  considered  in  silence  while  she  moistened 
the  seam  with  a  bit  of  sponge  wet  in  a  convenient 
cup  of  water,  and  set  the  goose  to  more  vigorous 
hissing  before  she  answered. 

"I  s'pose  we  was  fools,  but  we  hed  comp'ny. 
There 's  Samuel  Lovel,  which  he  'd  ha'  ben  wus  off 
'an  we  be  if  that  ore  bed  hed  n't  turned  up  jest  as 
it  did,  —  I  wish 't  we  could  find  one  in  our  garden, 

—  an'  there 's  Mis'  Purin't'n,  she  trusted  him  some, 
she  says,  herself,  an'  has  tewed  more  abaout  it  'an 
what  we  hev,  an'  that  'ere  Jones  boy  put  in  nigh  a 
hundred  dollars,  an'  young  Varney,  he  owns  up  to 
losin'  all  his  father  left  him  in  the  bank,  an'  —  wal, 
I  do'  know  who  all,  but  the 's  enough  of  'em  besides 
us." 

"  It  don't  make  us  aout  no  less  fools  'cause  other 
folks  was  jest  as  big  ones." 

"  An'  he  was  a  candid  'pearin'  man,  the'  can't 
nobody  deny,"  Lydia  continued,  in  extenuation  of 
the  fools  and  their  folly.  "  I  do'  know  as  I  ever 
see  a  nicer  'pearin'  young  man." 

"  Han'some  is  'at  han'some  does,  I  say,"  Nancy 
declared,  with  a  desperate  twitch  at  the  reluctant 
needle.  "  There !  There  goes  another  o'  his  needles 

—  jest  as  onreliable  as  he  is !    I  sh'd  like  tu  feed 
'em  tu  him." 

"  Nancy  Buttolph  !  "  her  sister  exclaimed,  in  mild 


THE   BUTTLES  GALS  221 

reproof.  "  You  know  it  Td  kill  him,  an'  we  're  toP 
tu  fugive  aour  enemies." 

"  Scissors  !  You  can,  yourn,  if  you  're  a  min'  tu ; 
I  shan't." 

"  If  your  looks  did  n't  deceive  you,  you  did  n't 
allus  feel  so  hard  toward  him,"  said  Lydia,  bearing 
down  on  the  goose  with  both  hands,  while  the  steam 
wreathed  up  about  her  face  and  intensified  the  odor 
of  hot  woolen  stuff  that  pervaded  the  room. 

"  Puh  !  "  Nancy's  scornful  ejaculation  rose  above 
the  sound  of  her  sister's  implement,  and  she 
dropped  the  broken  needle  into  the  black  depths 
of  a  crack  in  the  window  casing.  "  It 's  a  pity  if 
folks  can't  treat  folks  decent  'thaout  a-hevin'  it 
flung  in'  the'  face !  " 

"You  can't  deny  't  he  wa'n't  more'n  common 
takin'  tu  you,  Nancy." 

"  Is  the'  anythin'  cur'us  abaout  that  ?  "  Nancy 
asked.  She  did  not  finish  threading  the  new  needle 
before  she  studied  the  effect  of  the  black  eyes  and 
the  curls  in  the  looking  glass  in  the  door  of  the 
Seth  Thomas  clock. 

"  No,  indeed,  the'  hain't,"  Lydia  assented  heart- 
ily, pausing  a  moment  as  she  lugged  the  heavy 
goose  to  the  stove  to  let  her  eyes  follow  her  sister's 
and  glance  at  her  own  unadorned  image.  She  had 
given  up  the  fight  against  the  inevitable  conqueror 
of  youth,  and  wore  a  plain  white  cap  like  a  flag  of 
truce  over  her  thin  grizzled  locks  and  time-scored 


222  THE   BUTTLES  GALS 

cheeks,  and  her  dark  gown  was  like  a  garment  of 
mourning  for  hopes  dead  and  departed. 

Nancy  smoothed  the  hair  above  her  side  combs 
with  a  moistened  needle-worn  finger,  and  gazed  out  of 
the  window,  seeing  only  the  visions  of  a  day  dream. 

"  Wai,  that  hain't  neither  here  nor  there,"  Lydia 
sighed,  "  but  what  I  sh'd  like  to  know  is  what 's 
goin'  tu  become  of  us  ?  " 

"I  shan't  go  tu  Middlebury  tu  visit  Cousin 
Seliny,  that 's  one  thing  'at  '11  become  o'  me,"  said 
Nancy,  resuming  her  sewing. 

"I'm  dreffle  sorry,"  and  Lydia  sighed  again. 
"  You  'd  ha'  seen  so  much  s'ciety." 

The  younger  woman  looked  in  the  glass  again 
and  shut  her  lips  tightly  while  the  other  continued : 

"  I  was  cal'latin'  'at  we  'd  hev  this  floor  painted 
an'  the  walls  whitewashed,  now  the  flies  is  gone." 
She  looked  over  the  yellow  floor  to  the  white  wood 
in  the  most  exposed  places,  and  sighed  again. 

The  scrupulously  neat  room,  warmed  by  a  pol- 
ished cook  stove,  was  kitchen,  sewing-room,  and 
sitting-room.  In  front  of  it  was  the  bedroom  of 
the  sisters  and  the  "  square  room,"  always  dark  in 
the  daytime,  with  its  green  window  curtains  down 
not  only  for  the  full  display  of  the  remarkable  land- 
scapes painted  on  the  outside  of  them,  beyond  com- 
parison with  anything  in  the  outer  world,  but  also 
to  keep  the  rag  carpet  from  fading,  for  in  those 
days  a  rag  carpet  was  an  article  of  luxury. 


THE   BUTTLES  GALS  223 

"I  be  turrible  glad,  though,  'at  we  got  that 
carpet  done  an'  them  curtains,  whilst  we  could  af- 
ford tu,"  Lydia  said,  looking  at  the  door  and  speak- 
ing as  if  she  saw  through  it.  "They  make  it 
pleasant  for  young  folks.  It  don't  make  much  odds 
tu  me,  but  it 's  diff'ent  with  you."  She  took  a  snuff 
box  from  her  pocket  and  regaled  herself  with  a 
pinch,  whereupon  Nancy  laid  down  her  work  and 
retired  to  the  bedroom,  whence  she  presently  came 
forth  returning  a  handkerchief  to  the  pocket  of  her 
apron  and  with  her  nostrils  all  a-bloom.  Snuff  tak- 
ing did  not  comport  with  youth. 

44 1  do'  know  haow  nor  where  we  're  a-goin'  tu 
git  aour  winter's  wood,  ner  yet  aour  pertaters,  sence 
aour  gardin  dried  up  so  an'  didn't  du  nothin'.  I 
was  cal'latin'  on  the  intres'  money  for  your  goin' 
tu  Middlebury  an'  tu  git  the  wood  an'  pertaters ; 
we  c'n  git  along  wi'aout  much  meat.  Oh,  hum  a 
day  !  The  Lord  giveth  an'  the  Lord  taketh  away." 

44  He  took  away  more  'n  he  give,  seem 's  if.  Jest 
look  at  Bascom  an'  aour  money,  an'  the  gardin 
a-failin'  up  so,  an'  not  skeerce  any  work  a-comin' 
in ;  seem  's  'ough  men  folks  hed  gi'n  up  wearin' 
do's,"  said  Nancy,  looking  out  of  the  window  to  a 
world  that  at  a  casual  glance  seemed  clad  in  uni- 
versal whiteness  by  the  first  available  snow  of  the 
season.  But  as  the  eye  dwelt  on  it,  farmsteads  as- 
serted their  places  in  gray  dots,  roofed  with  deeper 
blue  of  shadow  and  brighter  silver  of  sunlight ; 


224  THE   BUTTLES   GALS 

gray  patches  of  deciduous  woods  bordered  and 
jutted  into  the  white  fields  ;  thin  gray  lines  of  fences 
severed  farm  from  farm  and  field  from  field,  and 
beyond  all  these  rose  the  mountain  barrier  of 
darker  hue,  with  grizzled  black  growth,  rugged  with 
ridges  and  ravines  that  leafy  summer  never  re- 
vealed. 

"  If  brother  James  had  n't  acted  so,"  said  Lydia, 
returning  to  her  troubles,  "  an'  gone  off.  Bern'  a 
man,  he  would  n't  ha'  be'n  took  in  by  that  Bascom, 
nor  yet  ha'  let  us.  The  fust  Buttolph  'at  ever  took 
tu  drinkin'  as  fur  as  I  ever  heard  —  an'  him  as 
good  a  cooper  as  ever  drove  a  hoop.  An'  naow 
he  's  goin'  back  an'  fo'th  sailin'  tu  the  eend  o'  the 
airth  on  that  turrible  canawl,  an'  I  can't  sleep  o' 
nights  fur  thinkin'  of  him  a-perilin'  his  life  on  the 
deep.  An'  he  might  be  safe  on  land  a-makin' 
pork  berrils  an'  cheese  casks,  which  everybody  is 
a-wantin',  for  they  say  'at  Uncle  Rus'ell  Raymond 
has  got  most  past  duin'  any  sort  of  a  job  o'  coop- 
erin'." 

"  It 's  jest  another  case  o'  takin'  away,"  said 
Nancy,  and  she  made  further  expression  of  her 
rebellious  thoughts  in  the  quick,  spiteful  jerks  of 
her  needle. 

For  a  considerable  time  the  sisters  preserved  a 
silence  that  seemed  the  more  intensified  by  the 
faint  click  of  the  thimbles  on  the  needles,  the  draw- 
ing of  the  thread  through  the  thick  cloth,  the  tick 


THE   BUTTLES  GALS  225 

of  the  clock  and  the  snapping  of  the  fire  in  the 
stove. 

At  length  Lydia  broke  the  quiet  by  frugally 
replenishing  the  fire,  saying  as  she  came  from  the 
shed  with  a  few  sticks  of  wood,  "  When  Darkter 
Stun  pays  us  for  turnin'  this  'ere  overcoat,  we  shall 
hev  tu  git  us  some  wood  ;  there  hain't  no  tew  ways 
abaout  it."  Then  glancing  out  of  the  little  window 
over  the  sink,  she  exclaimed,  "  There  's  a  snag  o' 
teams  a-comin'  up  the  hill.  It  looks  like  a  perces- 
sion." 

"  You  don't  s'pose  the'  's  a  fun'al  an'  we  hain't 
heard  on't  ?"  asked  Nancy.  "  It 's  jest  what  anybody 
might  expect,  holed  up  in  the  winter  like  woo'- 
chucks." 

The  women  fluttered  to  the  bedroom  window, 
which  commanded  a  better  view  of  the  road. 

"  'T  ain't  no  funeral,"  Nancy  declared.  "  It 's  a 
string  o'  wood  teams  a-goin'  tu  the  village." 

Relieved  that  a  funeral  had  not  escaped  their 
attendance,  they  returned  to  their  work,  which  was 
hardly  resumed,  when  they  heard  the  creaking  of 
the  snow  under  many  pairs  of  feet,  and  heavy-laden 
runners  and  the  long-drawn  shout  of  five  teamsters 
halting  as  many  yokes  of  oxen,  each  with  its  full 
sled  load  of  stove  wood  crowned  by  a  plethoric  two- 
bushel  bag. 

"  What  on  airth !  "  exclaimed  Lydia,  peeping 
out  of  the  small  window  with  but  one  eye  exposed 


226  THE  BUTTLES  GALS 

to  the  outer  world,  while  Nancy  took  as  guarded 
an  observation  at  the  opposite  side.  "  Why  it 's  all 
Danvis  turned  loose.  There  's  that  gre't,  awful 
John  Dart  'mongst  'em.  Be  they  all  crazy,  or  what 
ails  'em  ?  " 

u  Come,  go  in,  some  on  ye,  an'  find  aout  where 
the  ol'  gals  want  these  'taters  dumped  and  this 
wood  onloaded,"  Dart  called  in  a  tone  of  cheerful 
impatience,  as  he  came  up  from  the  rear  to  join  the 
group  that  stood  in  bashful  hesitation  beside  the 
front  team.  They  looked  from  one  to  another,  each 
hoping  that  some  one  would  volunteer  for  the  duty 
of  spokesman. 

"You  go,  Joel,"  Sam  said,  when  it  appeared 
that  no  one  would  offer.  "  You  're  uster  speakin' 
in  meetin'." 

Joel  Bartlett  slowly  shook  his  head,  crowned 
with  a  broad-brimmed  hat  over  a  woolen  cap  of 
sanguinary  and  most  un-Quakerly  hue. 

"  I  don't  feel  clear,  Samwel.  It  is  thy  place, 
seem'  thee  was  the  fust  to  stir  in  the  matter." 

"  No,  I  only  happened  tu  speak  fust ;  you  was 
all  fast  enough  tu  come.  Let  Solon  go  in  ;  he  can 
allus  find  suthin'  tu  say." 

"  I  hain't  legible  tu  the  office,"  Solon  objected ; 
"  but  here  's  Mr.  Dart,  he  'd  ort  tu  be  oudagious 
enough  not  tu  be  embarrasted." 

"  You  don't  ketch  me  in  there  alone,"  said  the 
giant.  "  I  hain't  acquainted  an'  I  'm  afraid  of  ol' 


THE  BUTTLES  GALS  227 

maids,  an'  more  'n  all  that,  Sary  Ann  's  1'arnt  me 
not  tu  speak  tu  no  womern  but  her.  We  '11  send 
in  Jozeff.  Come,  Jozeff,  you  hyper  in." 

After  much  urging  and  many  excuses  and  an 
elaborate  clearing  of  his  boots  of  snow  upon  the 
plank  doorstep,  Joseph  Hill  knocked  and  was  bid- 
den to  enter. 

"  Good  mornin'  gals,"  he  said,  with  great  volu- 
bility. "  Be  ye  well  ?  An'  the  chil  —  I  mean  your 
fam'ly,  be  they  well?" 

"  We  are  tol'able  well,  Mr.  Hill,"  said  Lydia, 
hoping  he  might  be  a  customer,  and  while  she  spoke 
mentally  measuring  the  broad  figure  before  her. 
"  Take  a  cheer  an'  set  up  tu  the  fire." 

"  I  'm  'bleeged  tu  ye,  I  don't  care  'baout  settin' 
arter  ridin'  all  the  way  over  here  —  that  is  to  say, 
I  might  ha'  rid,  only  I  'd  ruther  go  afoot.  I  jest  run 
in  of  an  arrent.  The  fact  on  't  is  —  the  way  on  't 
was,  you  see,  Samwel  kinder  thought  mebby  —  we 
did  n't  know  but  what  you  a-hevin  sech  tormentin' 
luck  wi'  that  'ere  plagued  Bascom,  you  might  be 
kinder  short  on  't  for  your  winter's  wood  —  not  hev 
quite  so  much,  you  know,  as  you  might  ha'  hed  if 
you  'd  a  leetle  mite  more,  you  see,  an'  so,  as  we  all 
happened  tu  be  a-goin'  over  tu  the  village,  we  jest, 
each  on  us,  hove  on  a  little  jag,  an'  whilst  we  was 
abaout  it  we  kinder  flung  on  a  bag  o'  'taters,  jest 
tu  stiddy  the  load,  an'  we  don't  want  tu  kerry  'em 
back,  'cause  we  all  got  more  'n  we  want,  an'  naow 


228  THE  BUTTLES  GALS 

if  you  '11  show  us  where  tu  empty  'em  we  '11  onload 
the  wood  jist  where  you  say." 

When  he  stopped  speaking  for  want  of  breath, 
he  was  still  more  disconcerted  to  perceive  that  his 
message  was  not  received  in  a  kindly  spirit.  Lydia's 
mouth  was  pressed  so  tightly  that  it  was  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  the  wrinkles  which  surrounded 
it,  and  she  regarded  him  with  a  stare  made  colder 
by  the  glitter  of  her  spectacles,  while  Nancy's  black 
eyes  flashed  and  each  separate  ringlet  shook  with 
indignation. 

"  We  're  turribly  obleeged  tu  ye,"  Lydia  said, 
"  but  we  hain't  objecks  o'  charity." 

"  When  we  be,"  Nancy  interjected,  "  we  '11  send 
you  word.  You  can  take  your  wood  an'  pertaters 
right  stret  home'ag'in." 

Joseph  was  so  taken  aback  by  these  rebuffs  that 
he  could  not  find  a  word  to  offer  in  apology,  but 
made  a  precipitate  retreat,  gasping  in  a  frightened 
undertone  as  he  joined  his  companions :  — 

"  Sam  Hill !  the  'tarnal  critters  is  dref'l  pudchiky 
—  madder  'n  tew  settin'  hens !  You  can't  tech  'em 
wi'  -a  ten-foot  pole,  not  sca'cely,  an'  they  won't  hev 
the  wood  nor  nothin',  an'  say  we  c'n  take  it  hum 
again !  Think  we  're  insultin'  of  'em.  My  land  !  " 

"  Dura  their  stinkin'  pride,"  John  Dart  growled. 
"  What  be  we  goin'  tu  do  ?  We  can't  turn  'raound 
here  loaded,  an'  if  we  could  I  wouldn't  haul  my 
load  back  over  these  cajullucks  for  it.  Le's  fling 


THE  BUTTLES  GALS  229 

it  off,  an'  if  they  don't  like  it  they  can  lump 
it." 

"An'  what '11  we  du  with  the  'taters?"  Joseph 
queried.  "  Jes'  's  like  's  not  they  '11  let  'em  stay  aout 
here  an'  freeze.  An'  anyways,  they  don't  look  's  if 
any  one  on  'em  could  wrastle  tew  bushel  o'  'taters, 
nor  both  on  'em  tugether." 

"  Oh,  we  can  take  the  'taters  back  an'  give  'em 
tu  An  twine.  He  won't  turn  up  his  nose  at  nothin' 
you  give  him,"  said  John  Dart. 

"  Perhaps  we  can  persuade  Lyddy  and  Nancy  to 
buy  the  wood  for  a  small  consideration,"  Joel  Bart- 
lett  suggested.  "  They  've  got  a  worldly  pride  nat'- 
ral  tu  the  old  Adam,  ag'in  takin'  charity,  an'  we  've 
got  tu  consider  it.  If  you  '11  all  fall  in  with  the 
idee  I  feel  free  tu  go  in  an'  talk  with  the  gals." 

"  I  've  got  the  idee.  See  here,"  said  Sam  Lovel, 
"  let 's  go  in  an'  git  measured  for  some  clo's  'at  we  're 
agoin'  tu  hev  made  an'  let  the  wood  go  toward  the 
pay." 

"  It  looks  sort  o'  desaitful,"  said  Joel,  "  but  I 
do'  know  but  it 's  kinder  accordin'  tu  what  was  said 
by  one  formerly  abaout  not  lettin'  the  left  hand 
know  what  the  right  dueth.  Aour  women  folks  do' 
know." 

"  If  I  was  'quainted  with  these  'ere  idgits,  I  'd 
go  in  an  spank  'em,"  John  Dart  declared.  "  But  I 
don't  know  'em.  Go  ahead,  Lovel." 

" 1  do'  know  what  M'ri  '11  say,"  said  Joseph.    "  I 


230  THE  BUTTLES  GALS 

hain't  said  nothin'  tu  her  'baout  hevin'  of  me  any 
clo's." 

"  We  hain't  got  tu  hev  'em  cut  till  we  git  ready, 
only  git  measured,"  Sam  whispered  loudly.  There- 
upon he  made  for  the  door  and  entered  without 
ceremony,  followed  by  the  others  crowding  upon 
his  heels,  except  Joseph,  who  kept  well  in  the  rear. 

"  Good  mornin',  Lyddy.  Good  mornin',  Nancy," 
Sam  said,  heartily,  and  then  without  waiting  for  a 
return  of  the  salutation,  "  I  'm  afeared  Jozeff  here 
did  n't  du  aour  arrent  plain.  The  idee  is,  we  all  on 
us  got  tu  hev  us  some  clo's,  an'  we  hain't  got  no 
money,  so  we  cal'lated  you  'd  be  wantin'  some  wood 
an'  'taters,  mebby,  an'  we  could  pay  ye,  part  in 
barter  in  advance,  an'  the  rest  on't  bimeby  in  cash 
or  in  barter,  if  that  kind  of  a  dicker  will  be  agree- 
able." 

44  Why,  land  sakes  !  "  exclaimed  Lydia,  her  coun- 
tenance changing  its  severe  expression  to  one  of 
surprise.  "  He  never  said  one  word  abaout  clo's. 
He  kerried  the  idee  'at  you  was  a-givin'  it  all  tu  us 
as  if  we  was  a  couple  o'  porpers." 

"  Well,  ye  see,  it  kinder  slipped  my  mind.  I  tol' 
M'ri  'fore  I  started  'at  I  'd  got  tu  hev  me  some 
traowsers,  an'  she  said  she  'd  lost  the  partern  an' 
I  'd  hafter  git  measured.  Sam  Hill !  I  do'  know 
haow  I  came  tu  fergit." 

"  I  darsay  we  can  use  the  wood  an'  the  perta- 
ters,"  said  Lydia,  "  if  we  can  agree  on  the  price. 


THE  BUTTLES  GALS  231 

Haow  much  du  you  gentlemen  think  they  're 
wuth?" 

"  Wai,  it 's  all  body  wood — beach  an'  maple — an' 
all  ready  fer  the  stove,  an'  I  cal'late  it 's  wuth  tew 
dollars  a  cord,  an'  each  on  us  has  got  a  good  half 
cord  on,  should  n't  you  think  the'  was  ?  "  Sam  in- 
quired of  his  companions. 

"  Not  no  more  'n  that,"  said  big  John  Dart ;  and 
Solon  thought,  "  That  was  a-estimatin'  on 't  liberal," 
while  Joel,  whose  conscience  would  n't  permit  him 
to  assent  to  such  a  glaring  deception,  coughed  and 
made  his  mouth  so  round  that  it  almost  whistled  a 
note  of  surprise. 

"  I  sha  n't  be  able  tu  fetch  ye  the  cloth  for  a  hul 
suit  ontil  I  git  my  sheep  shore  nex'  summer  an' 
kerry  the  wool  tu  the  f act'ry  an'  git  it  made  up ; 
but  if  you  're  a  min'  tu  measure  me  naow,  I  guess 
I  sha  n't  grow  no  more,"  said  D9*vt. 

"An'  I  want  thee  to  cut  me  a  plain  coat," 
said  Joel,  "single-breasted  an'  stan'in'  collar  — 
thee  knows,  Nancy  —  an'  skirts  not  tew  full." 

"You  put  crows'  feet  tu  the  corners  of  every 
pocket  o'  mine  an'  three  pairs  o'  buttons  on  the 
tails,"  resumed  Dart,  "  an'  if  you  're  a-goin'  to 
measure  me,  you  might  as  well  git  out  a  cheer 
an'  begin  at  the  top,  er  shall  I  gi'  daown  on  all 
fours?" 

"  While  you  're  a-measurin'  him  an'  Joel,  Jozeff 
an'  Solon  an'  me  '11  fetch  in  the  'taters  an'  put  'em 


232  THE   BUTTLES   GALS 

in  the  suller.  They  're  Buckeyes  an'  Long  Johns 
an'  English  Whites,  an'  '11  be  ninepence  a  bushil. 
You  light  a  light,  Nancy,  an'  show  us  the  way 
daown  suller." 

With  that  Sam  went  out,  followed  by  Solon  and 
Joseph,  while  Lydia  brought  her  tape  line  and  book 
and  began  the  measurement  of  her  huge  customer, 
and  Nancy  handed  a  lighted  tallow  candle  in  its 
shining  iron  candlestick  to  Sam  as  he  passed  down 
the  cellar  stairs. 

"  Wai,  their  'tater  bin 's  pooty  nigh  cleaned 
aout,"  said  Joseph,  as  he  carried  his  full  bag  down 
the  narrow  stairs  and  emptied  it  on  the  bare  boards. 

"  Some  time  we  've  got  tu  bring  them  gals  some 
cloth  an'  let  'em  work  it  up.  They  '11  feel  'nough 
better,"  said  Sam,  laying  a  brown  paper  roll  on 
top  of  the  potatoes  and  going  up  the  stairs. 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  see  if  this  'ere  pork  berril  cor- 
roberates,  so  to  speak,"  said  Solon,  hanging  his 
emptied  bag  on  his  left  arm,  taking  off  the  damp 
cover  and  holding  the  candle  down  inside  the  cask. 
"  The'  's  a  leetle  layer  o'  salt  left,  but  not  no  nu- 
trigotious  food  tu  eat.  Wai,  I  shall  be  killin'  next 
week  if  it  keeps  col'." 

"  It  'most  seems  'ough  them  oP  gals  'd  ruther 
work  'an  tu  set  still.  What  critters  !  "  said  Joseph. 

"  What  was  't  Samwel  depositoried  here  ?  "  said 
Solon. 

"Feels  like  sa'ssiges,  er  mebby  it's  lean  meat 


THE  BUTTLES  GALS  233 

fer  fryin'  er  suthin'  else,"  said  Joseph,  trying  the 
roll  with  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  They  won't  heave 
it  away  if  they  hain't  porpers.  I  don't  sca'cely 
b'lieve  they  will." 

With  the  cellar  somewhat  replenished  and  ten 
cords  of  wood  under  the  shed,  which  Pelatiah  had 
told  Sam  he  would  like  no  better  fun  than  to  pile 
up  in  good  shape  evenings,  "  bein'  he  could  n't  be 
spared'  no  other  time,"  the  kindly  neighbors  de- 
parted, leaving  something  better  than  food  and  fuel 
in  the  little  brown  house. 

As  the  sisters  watched  the  slow  ox  teams  going 
down  the  hill,  Nancy  admitted,  "  Arter  all 's  said 
an'  done,  folks  hain't  all  Bascoms,  an'  it  does  seem 
's  if  men  folks  'ould  hev  'em  clo's  a  while  longer." 


DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW  WORLD 

BUDGE  HOPKINS,  playing  in  the  back  yard  between 
the  farmhouse  kitchen  and  the  woodshed,  had  no 
animate  companions  but  the  hens  that  scampered  a 
few  fluttering  steps  out  of  his  way,  as  he  ran  back 
and  forth  with  his  clattering  home-made  toy  wagon. 
He  was  industriously  collecting  sticks  that  were 
make-believe  rails  for  a  make-believe  fence  by  the 
hencoop  that  was  his  barn. 

At  length  the  barnyard  was  fenced,  and  stocked 
with  a  wagon-load  of  smooth,  cobblestone  cows. 
Budge  stabled  them,  milked  them,  foddered  them 
and  turned  them  out,  again  and  again,  till  he  grew 
weary,  as  many  an  older  farmer  does,  of  the  mo- 
notonous round  of  chores.  There  he  sat,  gently 
pushing  his  wagon  to  and  fro,  and  listening  to 
indoor  sounds. 

"Yes,"  his  mother  was  saying  to  Martha,  the 
hired  girl,  "  Brush  let  his  place  this  year,  a  purpose 
so  he  and  she  could  go  to  the  Chicago  Fair.  They  've 
ben  gone  as  much  as  six  weeks,  hain't  they  ?  " 

He  could  only  hear  the  spiteful  thump  of  the 
flatiron  that  emphasized  Martha's  reply.  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins proceeded  to  a  long  description  of  the  dresses 
and  other  costly  preparations  of  Mrs.  Brush.  Then 


DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW   WORLD          235 

Budge's  interest  keenly  revived  as  he  heard  his 
mother  say  :  — 

44  Yes,  but  he  and  I  could  n't  both  go,  and  I 
could  n't  go  and  leave  Budge,  nor  go  and  take  him." 

Budge  had  never  dreamed  of  coming  so  near  vis- 
iting the  Fair,  as  to  be  thought  of  in  connection 
with  it.  He  had  heard  enough  about  it  and  of  Col- 
umbus ever  since  last  fall,  when  there  was  such  a 
time  at  the  schoolhouse,  and  he  had  recited  :  — 

In  fourteen  hundred  ninety-two, 
Columbus  sailed  o'er  the  ocean  blue. 

Now  he  didn't  care  about  the  old  Fair.  He 
would  rather  discover  something,  and  have  folks 
make  a  fair  about  it,  than  to  see  forty  other  folks' 
fairs.  There  must  be  a  great  unknown  world  be- 
yond the  crest  of  the  lofty  hill  whose  wooded  eastern 
incline  sloped  down  to  the  pasture  edge  but  half  a 
mile  from  the  house. 

He  had  been  so  far  several  times  with  his  father 
and  with  Nathan  for  the  cows,  but  beyond  their 
shadowy  verge  the  woods  were  an  unsolved  mys- 
tery to  him.  Now  Budge's  eyes  ran  to  the  hills,  and 
he  was  suddenly  filled  with  a  mighty  purpose. 

"  Mother,  gimme  some  pervisions,"  he  drawled, 
going  to  the  kitchen  door  with  his  wagon.  "  I  'm 
a-goin'  discovering  an'  I  've  got  to  have  pervrsions." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  amused  smile  as  she 
handed  a  big,  hot,  twisted  doughnut  from  a  heaped 
pan. 


236          DISCOVERY   OF  A  NEW   WORLD 

"  I  want  two.  I  'm  goin'  to  be  gone  a  year." 

"  A  whole  year,  Budge  !  "  she  said,  laughing. 
"  Why  then,  I  guess  you  will  want  two."  With  a 
kiss  on  his  sunburnt  cheek,  she  added  a  round 
doughnut  with  a  hole  in  the  middle.  Budge  dropped 
them  into  the  wagon  box  and  trundled  off  toward 
the  lane  to  the  pasture,  while  his  mother  never 
thought  of  his  going  beyond  the  yard.  He  was  a 
great  boy  for  "  playing  things." 

When  he  entered  the  lane  his  wagon  became  a 
ship,  sailing  along  a  wide  river  whose  shores  were 
the  wall  and  rail  fence,  overgrown  with  elder-bushes, 
fading  goldenrod  and  blackcap  vines,  long  since 
robbed  by  the  birds  of  their  last  dried  berry. 

Budge  hoped  that  the  country  he  was  to  discover 
might  have  berry-bushes  bearing  luscious  fruit  all 
the  year  round,  and  birds  that  always  sang.  No 
birds  sang  now  over  the  corn-shocks  that  stood  in 
the  meadows  like  the  wigwams  of  an  Indian  village, 
unless  it  was  a  bluebird,  chanting,  far  aloft,  a  plain- 
tive farewell  to  departed  summer. 

He  heard  the  voices  of  his  father  and  the  hired 
man  above  the  rustle  of  the  cornstalks  and  the  occa- 
sional rumble  of  ears  emptied  into  the  wagon.  They, 
too,  were  talking  of  the  great  Chicago  Fair. 

He  voyaged  out  into  the  ocean  of  pasture,  touch- 
ing now  and  then  at  ant-hill  islands,  and  coming  to 
where  the  cows  were  grazing. 

The  great  creatures  raised  their  heads  to  stare 


DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW  WORLD          237 

curiously  at  the  little  figure  so  unfamiliar  to  them 
here.  They  were  walruses,  or  whales,  or  some  other 
sea  monsters,  yet  cows  so  much  that  he  did  not  fear 
them. 

At  last,  leaving  Spot,  Brindle,  Cherry  and  all  the 
rest  looking  up  mildly  to  get  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
broad-brimmed  straw  hat  and  little  checked  ging- 
ham blouse,  Budge  came  to  the  edge  of  the  woods. 

When  he  got  well  into  the  woods  he  found  them 
quite  unnavigable  for  his  ship.  She  ran  foul  of 
roots  and  saplings  in  a  vexatious  fashion,  and  was 
capsized  by  a  stump.  Her  stores  were  all  pitched 
overboard ;  so  now  Budge  dry-docked  and  left  her. 
Recovering  the  provisions,  he  trudged  bravely  on. 

Presently  a  large  bird  —  a  wild  hen  he  was  sure 
—  ran  on  before  him,  crying,  "  Quit !  quit !  "  and 
then  burst  away  in  sudden  flight,  with  a  thunder  of 
wings  that  startled  him. 

He  soon  found  a  doughnut  in  each  hand  so  in- 
convenient that  he  sat  down  on  a  mossy  log  to  re- 
lieve himself  of  a  part  by  eating  the  twisted  one. 
The  other  was  handy  to  carry  because  of  the  hole, 
into  which  he  could  slip  two  fingers. 

The  woods  were  aglow  with  autumnal  colors  so 
bright  that  they  seemed  to  diffuse  light  everywhere, 
and  the  stray  splashes  of  sunlight  were  scarcely 
noticeable.  It  was  so  still  that  when  a  topmost 
ripened  leaf  detached  itself  from  the  twig  that  bore 
it,  Budge  could  hear  it  slipping  and  fluttering  all 


238          DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW   WORLD 

the  way  down,  and  his  ear  caught  the  faint  tick  of 
its  final  alighting. 

He  could  not  tell  how  far  away  the  squirrel  was 
rasping  a  nut  nor  the  woodpecker  chiselling  a  tree, 
but  he  could  hear  the  faint  patter  of  their  chips  on 
the  dead  leaves. 

Then  there  was  a  rustle  of  feet,  till  a  yellow  dog 
with  sharp,  black  ears  and  nose,  and  a  beautiful 
bushy  tail  caine  trotting  out  before  him.  Becoming 
aware  of  him  by  a  whiff  of  scent,  it  stopped  short 
and  turned  its  cunning  eyes  full  upon  him  with 
more  curiosity  than  alarm.  Was  this  unusual  visitor 
of  the  woods  a  two-legged  lamb  that  might  afford  a 
toothsome  repast  ? 

Budge  felt  a  little  queer  under  the  scrutinizing 
gaze,  and  making  a  threatening  gesture,  cried,  "  Get 
out!" 

The  yellow  dog  laid  back  its  ears,  bristled  the 
hair  on  its  back,  uttered  a  short,  gasping  bark, 
sprang  out  of  sight  behind  a  tree,  and  went  bound- 
ing off  in  long  leaps  that  could  be  heard  afar  rust- 
ling in  the  dry  leaves. 

Budge  thought  he  had  already  found  a  strange 
world  where  there  were  wild  hens  and  wild  dogs 
wandering  at  will.  There  must  be  more  wonderful 
things  beyond.  So,  getting  to  his  feet,  he  pushed 
forward  to  discover  them.  With  nothing  to  guide 
him,  and  without  being  aware  of  keeping  his  course, 
he  held  straight  westward. 


DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW   WORLD          239 

On  the  tops  of  the  ledges,  where  the  rocks  were 
padded  with  cushions  of  gray  moss,  he  found  the 
huckleberry-bushes  loaded  with  fruit  yet  unspoiled 
by  frost,  and  lingered  a  little  to  gather  a  full 
feast  of  them  —  a  repast  from  which  many  a  pretty 
wild  hen  took  flight  at  his  approach  and  would  not 
be  coaxed  back,  though  he  called  never  so  per- 
suasively. 

By  and  by  he  had  passed  beyond  the  brightness 
of  the  deciduous  trees,  and  entered  the  dark  shadows 
of  the  hemlocks  and  pines,  between  whose  trunks 
he  presently  caught  glimpses  of  sunshine  and  blue 
sky  level  with  his  eyes. 

Budge  pushed  through  some  low  pine  boughs, 
and  stepped  forth  into  the  broad  sunlight  in  an 
open  space  on  the  hilltop.  Far  before  him  stretched  a 
world  more  wonderful  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

Away  to  the  west  it  was  bounded  by  a  broken 
wall  of  mountains,  but  little  bluer  than  the  sky  of 
which  they  seemed  builded.  Nearer  were  others 
made  partly  of  blue  sky  and  partly  of  the  autumnal 
gold  of  leaves.  At  their  feet  lay  the  blue  and  silver 
expanse  of  Champlain,  dotted  with  white  sails. 

Nearer  him  were  woods  gay  as  flower-beds,  with 
shining  streams  winding  through  them  out  of  green 
fields  where  were  toy  houses  and  barns  and  moving 
cows  no  bigger  than  mice  grazing  in  toy  pastures 
divided  by  toy -fences. 

Almost  beneath  him,  where  it  seemed  as  if  he 


240  DISCOVERY   OF  A  NEW   WORLD 

might  throw  a  stone,  he  could  see  a  man  much 
smaller  than  any  boy,  herding  some  of  these  mites 
of  cattle.  Budge  could  hear  his  small  voice  float- 
ing up  like  a  queer  birdnote,  "  Whoey !  Whoey !  " 

A  great  hawk  launched  forth  from  a  tree-top  be- 
neath him  and  sailed  away,  screaming,  far  above 
the  manikin  and  his  tiny  herd,  upon  whom  Budge 
dreaded  to  see  the  immense  bird  pounce.  But  it 
melted  away  to  a  speck  in  the  hazy  air,  and  was  no 
bigger  than  a  mosquito  when  it  hovered  over  the 
miniature  trees  of  the  lowlands. 

Then  he  heard  a  distant  rumble,  that  grew  to  be 
a  roar,  mingled  at  times  with  a  mellow  whistle,  and 
a  railroad  train  came  gliding  through  the  plain  with 
a  dissolving  wedge  of  vapor  briefly  dividing  the 
landscape.  The  roar  and  whistle  echoed  back  and 
forth  across  the  wide  valley,  and  made  the  rock- 
built  hill  tremble.  Budge  wondered  how  such  a  lit- 
tle train  could  make  so  great  a  noise,  and  watched 
till  it  crept  away  into  the  hazy  distance  and  its  thun- 
der died  to  a  low  murmur. 

His  small  body  was  weary  with  travel,  his  eyes 
tired  with  the  sight  of  many  wonders.  Lying  back 
on  the  soft  grass,  he  closed  his  lids,  thinking  he 
would  rest  a  little  and  then  go  home  and  tell  all 
about  this  beautiful,  new,  and  unknown  world. 

The  afternoon  was  waning  when  it  occurred  to 
Mrs.  Hopkins  that  it  was  long  since  she  had  seen 
or  heard  her  little  boy.  She  went  to  the  door  and 


DISCOVERY   OF  A   NEW  WORLD          241 

called,  but  got  no  response.  Presently  Martha  took 
alarm,  and  the  two  women  looked  to  see  that  the 
cistern  was  covered,  listened  down  the  well,  and 
made  a  tour  of  the  barns. 

"  He  must  'a'  gone  out  where  they  're  buskin'," 
said  Martha ;  but  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  much  con- 
cerned. 

It  was  near  chore-time,  and  she  soon  saw  her 
hus.band  coming  to  the  house  alone. 

"  Hain't  Budge  been  with  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Budge  ?    Why,  I  hain't  seen  him  since  noon." 

"Oh,  dear!  Where  can  he  be?"  she  almost 
sobbed.  "  I  hain't  seen  him  since  two  o'clock.  He 
said  he  was  goin'  discoverin'." 

"  Mebby  he  's  gone  with  Nathan  after  the  cows," 
the  father  suggested,  trying  to  appear  easy.  "  He  '11 
turn  up  all  right,  Miny  ;  or  mebby  he  's  climbed 
onto  the  haymow  and  gone  to  sleep." 

Joel  Hopkins  made  the  barns  ring  with  lusty 
calls,  but  there  was  no  response  save  the  rebound- 
ing echoes  and  the  cackle  of  startled  fowls.  Nathan 
heard  the  outcry,  and  hurrying  the  cows  till  their 
hoofs  clattered,  presently  appeared  at  the  barn-yard 
gate. 

"  Did  you  see  anything  of  Budge  ?  "  Joel  asked 
quickly. 

Nathan  hooked  the  gate  deliberately  while  he 
pondered  the  question,  then  like  a  true  Yankee 
asked  another. 


242          DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW  WORLD 

"  Why,  hain't  he  round  ?  Wai,  now,  like  'nough 
that  'counts  for  it,"  he  said,  with  exasperating  slow- 
ness. 

"  'Counts  for  what  ? "  demanded  Mr.  Hopkins 
sharply. 

"  Why,"  drawled  Nathan,  "  a  curious-lookin' 
mark  I  seen  in  the  dust  up  to  the  end  of  the  lane. 
It  never  come  to  me  what  it  was,  but  it 's  the  track 
o'  Budge's  little  waggin ;  an'  I  seen  it  again  on  a 
ant-hill  'way  up  in  the  middle  o'  the  pastur'.  But 
I  never  see  his  track  nor  nothin'  o'  him.  Mebby  he 
went  up  to  the  edge  o'  the  woods  lookin'  for  wa'- 
nuts." 

Nathan  was  a  fox-hunter,  and  always  on  the  look- 
out for  tracks. 

"  Joel,  you  and  Nathan  must  go  right  up  there 
and  look  for  him,"  cried  Mrs.  Hopkins,  who  had 
listened  breathlessly  to  the  slowly  imparted  intelli- 
gence. "  Me  and  Marthy  '11  milk.  Oh,  dear !  "  she 
sobbed,  "  he  said  he  was  goin'  to  be  gone  a  year, 
and  I  'd  be  happy  if  I  knew  I  'd  see  him  alive  and 
well  as  soon  as  that." 

"  Pshaw,  Mis'  Hopkins,  we'  11  find  him  all  right, 
never  you  fear,"  said  Nathan  reassuringly ;  but  as 
he  retraced  his  way  up  the  lane  he  plied  his  long 
legs  so  briskly  that  it  put  Joel  Hopkins  out  of  breath 
to  keep  at  his  heels. 

"  If  the  poor  little  chap  's  got  turned  round  in 
the  woods,  there 's  no  tellin'  where  he  '11  stray  to," 


DISCOVERY  OF  A  NEW  WORLD          243 

he  said,  "  an'  we  've  got  to  hustle  to  find  him  afore 
dark.  'Cordin'  to  the  waggin  track,  he  was  layin' 
straight  for  the  woods.  Wa'  nuts,  I  guess." 

There  was  no  sign  of  Budge  among  the  hickories, 
but  just  inside  the  woods  Nathan's  eyes,  in  whose 
slow  gaze  one  would  never  guess  there  was  such 
alertness,  detected  the  track  of  the  little  wagon  ;  and 
presently  with  a  whoop  he  announced  the  discovery 
of  the  wagon  itself. 

Nathan  was  the  master  now,  and  made  Joel  keep 
behind  or  to  one  side  so  that  he  might  not  spoil  the 
trail,  which  was  followed  with  studious  care  —  now 
by  a  footprint  in  moss  or  mould,  now  by  a  broken 
twig  or  overturning  of  dead  leaves. 

"  It  does  beat  all,"  said  Nathan  admiringly,  as 
they  stopped  on  a  ledge  where  Budge  had  made  a 
broad  trail  through  huckleberry  bushes,  "  the  way 
that  little  critter  has  stuck  to  his  course.  I  tell  you 
what,  he  '11  make  a  regular  woods  ranger." 

When  the  two  men  came  out  upon  the  hilltop,  a 
few  rods  apart,  it  was  still  lighted  by  the  lingering 
day,  though  a  distant  lighthouse  on  the  lake  was 
shining  amid  the  deepening  gloom  like  a  stranded 
star. 

Joel  Hopkins  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the 
sheer  precipice  that,  just  before  them,  dropped  a 
hundred  feet  to  the  rocky  slope  beneath.  There  his 
little  boy  might  be  lying  dead  ! 

Then  he  saw  Nathan  signaling  to  him  silently 


244          DISCOVERY   OF  A   NEW  WORLD 

with  an  uplifted  arm.  In  a  few  moments  both  men 
were  stooping  over  a  little  bunch  of  yellow  straw 
and  checked  gingham,  half-hidden  in  the  wiry  grass. 
Tall,  gaunt,  uncouth  Nathan  called  Budge's  name 
so  softly,  and  laid  such  gentle  hands  upon  him,  that 
the  half-awakened  child  threw  his  arms  about  his 
neck  and  cried  out  in  a  sleepy  voice : 
"  O  mother !  I  'scovered  aU  'Meriky ! " 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  AT  HIGHFIELD 
POORHOUSE 

THEEE  was  scarcely  a  perceptible  abatement  of 
the  scorching  mid-day  heat,  though  the  last  rays 
of  the  July  sun  were  leveled  through  the  blur  of 
drouthy  haze  on  the  Highfield  poorhouse,  setting 
aglow  its  weathered  red  paint  and  patches  9f  new 
clapboards  with  a  ruddier  and  yellower  hue,  and 
sending  its  long  shadow  far  across  the  fields  to  in- 
vade the  shade  of  the  hillside  woods. 

But  the  heat  was  more  unbearable  indoors  than 
out.  All  the  inmates  of  the  poorhouse  were  out  in 
the  chip-paved  dooryard,  lounging  in  attitudes  of 
mitigated  discomfort  on  the  logs  left  over  from  last 
winter's  woodpile  —  chunks  of  elm  whose  tough 
fibres  had  defied  splitting  by  the  paupers'  dull  axes, 
wielded  with  little  energy. 

Mrs.  Warden,  the  angular  and  severe-faced  mis- 
tress of  the  place,  leaned  with  one  arm  akimbo  in 
the  door,  issuing  questions  and  orders  in  a  queru- 
lous voice  to  one  and  another  of  the  town  charges. 

Her  husband,  more  portly  and  better  tempered, 
sat  near  her,  atilt  in  a  wooden-bottomed  chair. 

The  restless  eyes  of  the  woman  hovered  over  the 
group  of  paupers  till  they  finally  swooped  down  on 


246  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

one  who  lay,  face  down,  upon  a  log,  regarding  the 
labors  of  a  colony  of  ants  with  listless  interest. 

"  Bart,  hev  you  fed  yer  hawgs  ?  "  she  demanded 
sharply. 

The  lame  Canadian,  who  sat  nearest  Bart,  gave 
him  a  vigorous  slap  on  the  back  with  his  greasy 
wool  hat  to  call  his  attention  to  the  question. 

"  Baht,  Mees  Warden  toF  you  was  you  fed  de 
hawg?" 

"  Consarn  it,  yaas !  "  Bart  answered,  lazily  kick- 
ing up  with  one  foot  toward  the  point  of  attack. 
He  added,  still  gazing  at  the  ants:  — 

"  One  of  them  leetle  creaturs  is  a-tryin'  to  lug 
off  a  dead  bug  or  suthin'  twict  as  big  ag'in  as  he 
is.  Naow  the's  two  more  a-helpin'  on  him.  Wai, 
if  that  hain't  a  cur'us  freak  o'  human  natur !  " 

The  Canadian  was  interested  only  so  far  as  to 
brush  away  the  busy  little  workers  with  a  mis- 
chievous sweep  of  his  hat. 

"  Consarn  it  all,  Joe ! "  Bart  drawled,  in  a  tone 
of  mild  indignation,  while  the  same  expression 
slightly  clouded  the  habitual  good  humor  of.  his 
countenance.  "  What  d'  ye  want  to  go  an'  spile 
their  fun  an'  mine  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dey  was  work  too  hard  for  hant  dat  was 
on  de  taown,"  the  Canadian  answered,  with  a 
laugh,  "an'  dey  want  gat  ready  for  Fourt'  July 
to-morry." 

"  I  guess  Fourth  of  July  won't  do  them  no  more 


AT  HIGHFIELD  POORHOUSE  247 

good  'an  it  will  me,"  said  Bart  sadly.  "  Ho  hum !  I 
wisht  I  could  go  to  the  village  to-morrer,  an'  git 
some  gingerbread  an'  spreuce  beer  as  I  use  to,  an' 
hear  the  band  play  an'  the  cannon  a-bangin'.  But 
I  s'pose  I  can't.  I  hain't  got  no  money,  an'  they 
won't  let  us  go,  nuther." 

Bart  rubbed  his  frowsy  poll  with  the  stump  of 
his  left  wrist. 

"  It  bes'  was  you  can't  go,  Baht,  for  prob'ly  if 
you  was  you  '11  gat  de  res'  of  you  han'  bus'  off,  an' 
you  '11  can't  spare  great  many  more  of  it." 

Bart  slowly  regarded  the  stump  as  if  counting 
the  cost  before  he  answered. 

" 1  do'  know  as  't  would  make  much  odds  ef  't  was 
my  head." 

u  It  was  bes'  one  you  '11  gat.  It  bes'  was  you  '11 
save  it." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  set  'em  to  grindin' 
up  their  scy's,"  Mrs.  Warden  said  to  her  husband. 
"They  might  jest  as  well  commence  to  mow  to- 
morrer." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  won't  hev  'em,  not  on  the  Fourth," 
he  answered  apologetically. 

"  Wai,  I  would  !  "  she  answered  spitefully. 
"  What 's  a  lot  of  porpers  got  to  do  with  the 
Fourth  of  July  ?  They  '11  eat  jest  as  much  the 
Fourth  as  any  day,  an'  they  'd  ortu  be  airnin' 
the'  victuals.  See  the  louts  a-loafin'  raoun'  an'  the 
sun  not  nigh  daown  !  I  wish 't  I  was  a  man  ! " 


248  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

"  You  'd  ought  to  ben  ! "  Abel  Warden  said. 
"  You  'd  make  things  gee,  Sairy  Ann." 

Mrs.  Warden  put  both  hands  to  the  knot  of 
sandy  hair  that  adorned  the  top  of  her  head  like 
a  wisp  of  dried  corn-silk,  and  readjusted  her  imi- 
tation tortoise-shell  comb.  Her  eyes  again  overran 
the  group  till  they  settled  upon  a  young  woman  of 
such  tall  and  masculine  form  that  she  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  man  masquerading  in  female  at- 
tire as  uncouth  and  as  ill-fitting  as  male  hands 
would  be  apt  to  produce. 

"  You,  Manner,"  said  Mrs.  Warden,  raising  her 
voice  to  a  tone  as  imperative  as  she  dared  exert 
against  one  of  whom  she  stood  in  wholesome  fear, 
"you  might  be  a-weedin'  them  onions  in  the  cool 
o' the  day!" 

"Law,  Sairy  Ann,"  Hannah  answered,  intent 
upon  balancing  a  pitchfork  on  her  forefinger  and 
plunging  about  with  awkward  strides  to  preserve 
its  equilibrium,  "  them  was  wed  afore  you  was  up 
this  mornin' ! " 

"  Honh !  "  Mrs.  Warden  sniffed ;  and  then  added, 
"  Wai,  t'  other  gard'n  sass  ?  " 

"  All  wed,  clean  as  a  whistle,"  Hannah  responded 
airily,  charging  across  the  yard  in  pursuit  of  the 
slanted  fork,  which  she  recovered  just  in  time  to 
prevent  its  falling  upon  a  ten-year-old  boy  and  his 
younger  sister,  who  sat  quietly  playing  at  building 
houses  of  the  chips. 


AT  HIGHFIELD   POORHOUSE  249 

"  Gaw !  I  did  n't  go  to  hurt  ye  !  "  cried  Hannah, 
leaning  upon  her  fork  and  kindly  regarding  the 
pretty  faces  that  were  upturned  to  hers,  while  she 
put  behind  her  ears  the  straight  black  hair  cut 
square  about  her  neck. 

Mrs.  Warden's  attention  was  drawn  to  the  chil- 
dren, and  she  swooped  down  upon  them  as  an  easy 
prey. 

"  You  git  up  aout  of  that  dirt,  you  young  uns ! " 
she  cried,  advancing  upon  them  with  a  threatening 
gesture. 

Hannah  faced  about  and  put  herself  between  the 
mistress  of  the  poorhouse  and  the  children. 

"  You  let  'em  alone,  Sairy  Ann  !  "  she  said,  with 
a  decided  tone  in  her  drawling  voice.  "  They  hain't 
a-doin'  no  hurt.  No,  you  don't !  "  she  screamed,  as 
Mrs.  Warden  tried  to  dodge  past  her.  Then,  speak- 
ing over  her  shoulder  to  the  children,  "  Tommy,  you 
an7  Janey  'd  better  go  an'  set  on  the  woodpile  an' 
hear  Joe  and  Bart  tell  abaout  the  Fourth." 

"  If  I  was  a  man,"  cried  Mrs.  Warden,  her  voice 
trembling  with  anger,  "  I  'd  hosswhip  you,  Hanner 
Bates,  till  ye  knowed  your  place  an'  kep'  it !  " 

"  Gaw !  You  'd  hafter  be  a  bigger  man  'an  there 
is  in  these  diggin's,"  said  Hannah,  smiling  down 
upon  her  with  exasperating  good  humor.  "  You  'd 
better  go  'long  into  the  haouse  an'  le'  me  ta'  care  o* 
the  young  uns." 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  see  the  selec'men  an'  have  'em  put 


250  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

you  aout  to  work  somewheres,  f er  I  won't  stan'  your 
imperdence  no  longer.  An'  them  brats  is  goin'  to 
be  put  aout,  too !  I  won't  bother  with  'em !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Warden,  retiring,  consumed  with  impotent 
wrath. 

"  That  would  be  drefful ! "  Hannah  called  after 
her  sarcastically.  "  Don't  I  wish  they  would !  Land 
knows  I  hain't  hankerin'  to  stay  here !  " 

"  Sho,  Sairy  Ann,  we  could  n't  spare  Hanner !  " 
said  Abel  Warden,  in  an  undertone  to  his  wife,  as 
she  passed  him.  "  She 's  wuth  any  two  of  the 
men." 

"  A  nice  man  you  be,  to  set  an'  see  your  wife 
sassed  by  that  critter !  "  she  retorted,  and  went  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  kitchen  to  nurse  her 
wrath  in  sullen  silence. 

The  children  seated  themselves  on  the  lower  log 
of  the  woodpile,  and  presently  forgot  their  inter- 
rupted play  in  listening  to  the  discourse  of  their 
elders  concerning  the  glories  of  the  Fourth. 

"Dey  goin'  start  de  cannon  in  de  morny  an' 
noon  an'  evelin',"  said  Joe,  "  an'  play  on  de  ban' 
all  de  tarn  'cep'  w'en  dey  heat  dey  dinny,  an'  L'yer 
Sharp  read  de  Declopendence  Indoration." 

"  Declaration  o'  Independence,  you !  "  prompted 
Israel  Hard,  a  dried-up  veteran  of  the  War  of 
1812. 

"  Yas,  dat  was  what  Ah'll  said,"  said  Joe,  com- 
placently. "  In  de  evelin',"  he  continued,  "  dey 


AT  HIGHFIELD   POORHOUSE  251 

goin'  have  fire-rocker  an'  too-numery-fo-menshin. 
Ah  don'  know  what  kan'  o'  firework  dat  was,  but 
dat  what  Ah  hear  read  on  de  paper.  Yas,  seh,  too- 
numery-fo-menshiu." 

"  Some  sort  of  fizzlin'  carlecues  of  fire,  red,  white 
an'  blue,"  said  Bart.  "  I  seen  'em  onct  when  I  went 
to  Fourth  o'  July." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  wish  they  'd  let  us  go,  Janey  ?  " 
asked  Tommy.  Janey  assented  with  emphatic  nods, 
settling  herself  comfortably  to  further  listening, 
after  a  glance  toward  the  door  to  assure  herself  of 
no  interruption  from  that  quarter. 

"  Pa  an'  ma  took  me  onct,  when  I  was  little  an' 
you  wa  'n't  only  a  baby.  Mebbe  we  'd  both  go  now 
if  they  was  alive." 

"You  don't  s'pose  they  '11  let  us  go?"  She 
jerked  her  head  sidewise  toward  the  house. 

Tommy  shook  his  head  in  hopeless  negation. 

"  Say,"  Janey  whispered  eagerly,  "  you  ask  Joe 
an'  Bart  to  ask  Uncle  Isril  if  he  don't  s'pose  they  '11 
let  us  all  go?  "  The  children  were  too  much  in  awe 
of  the  veteran,  who  seemed  to  them  to  belong  to  an 
age  so  remote  that  he  could  have  no  sympathy  with 
the  present,  yet  he  was  an  authority  whose  judg- 
ment would  be  final. 

Tommy  twitched  the  frayed  bottom  of  Joe's 
trousers  to  engage  his  attention,  and  whispered 
loudly  to  him,  "  You  ask  Uncle  Isril  if  he  don't 
s'pose  Mis'  Warden  '11  let  us  go  to-morrer?  " 


252  FOURTH   OF  JULY 

"  You  bet  dey  ant  let  you  go.  Prob'ly  dey  set  all 
us  hayin'  to-morry,  ant  it,  One'  Islary  ?  " 

The  old  man  grunted  in  a  dry,  cracked  voice, 
"  I  '11  be  shot  if  I  work  hayin'  Fourth  o'  July  fer 
nob'dy  !  They  won't  let  us  go  down  there,  day  ner 
night;  but  I  won't  work.  Ef  I  hed  my  pension,  as 
I  'd  ortu  hev,  I  'd  be  there  all  day ;  an'  they  'd  ortu 
hev  me  to  fire  their  cannon.  Them  fools  '11  forgit 
to  thum  the  vent,  an'  some  on  'em  '11  git  blowed 
higher  'n  a  kite." 

"  They  never  let  us  have  no  fun !  "  Bart  sighed. 
"  It 's  nothin'  but  work  an'  chore  an'  git  jawed  to 
pay  for  it." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  Janey  almost  sobbed.  "  They  might 
let  us  go  jest  onct !  We  never  go  nowhere  but  to 
fun'rals." 

"  Don't  you  cry,"  Tommy  whispered,  "  or  she  '11 
come  aout  an'  shake  you ; "  and  the  child  choked 
back  the  rising  tears. 

"  Ah  tol'  you  what  it  was,  seh,"  Joe  said,  break- 
ing his  meditative  silence.  "  If  Ah  '11  only  gat 
some  podder,  Ah  can  mek  Fourt'  of  July  raght 
here."  In  answer  to  their  inquiring  stares  he  ex- 
plained. "  Ah  can  bore  hole  in  dem  ellum  chunk 
we  can't  split,  an'  put  in  de  podder  an'  touch  it  an' 
blow  it  —  boom,  boom,  boom,  lak  ol'  tunder  !  But 
Ah '11  ant  gat  de  podder  an'  de  slow-match  for 
touch  it." 

"  The'  's  a  big  horn  in  the  kitchen  chuck  full,  'at 


AT  HIGHFIELD  POORHOUSE  253 

he  got  tu  shoot  crows  las'  spring,"  Hannah  sug- 
gested, in  a  gusty  whisper. 

"  The'  's  jes'  thirteen  of  the  chunks,"  the  veteran 
declared,  after  twice  counting  over  the  obdurate 
elm  logs  with  his  staff.  "  They  'd  make  a  reg'lar 
ol'-fashioned  s'lute.  Ef  ye  hed  some  saltpetre,  I 
could  make  ye  some  slow-matches,  Jozeff.  Jest 
take  an'  soak  some  paper  in  saltpetre  an'  dry  it, 
an'  it 's  a  com-plete  slow-match.  That 's  haow  they 
make  port-fires." 

"  The'  's  some  saltpetre  in  the  butt'ry  'at  Abel 
got  for  the  sick  caow,"  Hannah  whispered  again, 
drawing  near  the  group  of  patriotic  conspirators, 
"  an'  I  can  hook  that  an'  the  paowder  for  ye." 

"  Hanner,  you  was  angels  !  "  Joe  exclaimed,  in  a 
burst  of  admiration.  "  If  you  help  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, waving  a  hand  toward  Hannah  and  Bart, 
"  we  gat  up  'fore  hairly  in  de  morny  an'  bore  de 
hole,  an'  to-naght  we  mek  de  plaug  all  ready  for 
drove  in.  One'  Islary  can  mek  de  match,  an'  w'en 
hoi'  man  an'  hoi'  hwomans  gone  to  Fourt'  July  in 
de  day  we  load  our  gaun,  an'  in  de  evelin',  w'en  dey 
gone  to  see  some  more  fun,  we  had  nudder  fun 
here  —  boom,  hurrah  for  hurrah  !  " 

Hannah  brought  the  auger  from  the  woodshed, 
and  the  available  jack-knives  of  the  party  were  em- 
plo}red  in  whittling  plugs  to  fit  the  required  bore, 
which  was  accomplished  without  discovery: 

In  the  earliest  light  of  the  summer  morning  Joe 


254  FOURTH   OF  JULY 

and  Hannah  began  their  labors,  she  boring  the  elm 
chunks,  pouring  in  the  charge  of  powder,  and  driving 
home  each  of  the  plugs  with  a  single,  well-directed 
blow  of  the  beetle,  the  sound  of  which  did  not 
disturb  the  slumbers  of  Abel  Warden  and  his 
wife. 

"  Ah  '11  he'p  you  end  up  de  chonk,"  Joe  whis- 
pered, as  rising  on  his  sound  leg  and  sinking  on  his 
crooked  and  stiffened  lame  one,  his  dumpy  figure 
bobbed  along  beside  her  towering  form,  to  the  last 
and  largest  prone  section. 

"  Git  away !  "  she  answered,  impatiently ;  but  in 
the  same  guarded  tone,  "  I  wrastled  t'  others,  an'  I 
guess  I  c'n  wrastle  this  one."  Putting  her  strong 
hands  to  it,  she  reared  the  huge  block  on  errd  as 
easily  as  if  it  were  cork,  rather  than  solid  elm. 

She  had  given  the  auger  the  last  turn,  and  was 
about  to  withdraw  it  with  its  load  of  chips,  when 
Joe  arrested  her  with  a  sharp  whisper:  "Hist! 
what  dat  nowse  ?  " 

There  was  the  distinct  sound  of  rapidly  approach- 
ing hoof-beats  from  the  direction  of  the  village. 

"  Sho,  ain't  nothin',  only  somebody  goin'  hum  'at 's 
been  catousin'  to  the  tarvern  all  night,"  Hannah 
whispered,  after  a  moment's  listening.  "  Le'  's  finish 
up." 

The  pace  of  the  early  rider  slackened  as  he  drew 
near,  and  then  unmistakably  turned  in  at  the  gate. 

u  Ah  tol'  you  he  comin'  here,"  Joe  whispered,  in 


AT  HIGHFIELD   POORHOUSE  255 

great  alarm.  "  Run  !  Hid !  "  and  they  scurried  be- 
hind the  low  woodpile. 

They  covertly  watched  the  horseman  dismount 
and  knock  loudly  at  the  door.  Then  they  heard 
him  address  Abel  Warden,  who  came  to  the  door 
rubbing  his  sleepy  eyes. 

"  Mornin' !  "  The  wide-awake  voice  of  the  mes- 
senger sounded  oddly  in  the  drowsiness  of  the  early 
hour.  "The  s'lec'men  says  you  may  send  Uncle 
Isril  daown  to  the  village  to  tend  to  firm'  the  can- 
nern.  There  hain't  nobody  else  'at  understan's  it 
only  Cy  Wingate,  an'  he  '11  be  4  how-come-ye-so ' 
'fore  ten  o'clock  an'  bust  the  gun  an'  kill  some- 
body." 

Abel  mumbled  an  objection  unheard  by  the  lis- 
teners. 

"  Wai,"  the  messenger  responded,  with  one  foot 
in  the  stirrup,  "  the  s'lec'men  says  so,  an'  you  want 
to  send  the  oP  man  right  along !  They  '11  give  him 
his  breakf  as'  to  the  tarvern  !  Hurry  him  up  !  " 

So  saying,  he  mounted  and  departed  with  his 
elbows  beating  the  air  like  the  wings  of  a  bird  as 
the  horse  broke  into  a  gallop  that  jounced  out  the 
words  of  the  repeated  injunction. 

"  Tunder ! "  said  Joe,  in  an  expletive  whisper. 
"  Dat  was  be  funs  for  One'  Islary,  but  what  we 
goin'  do  for  have  it  some  match  ?  " 

"  Gaw  !"  Hannah  responded,  cautiously  becoming 
erect  as  Abel  shut  himself  from  the  outer  world 


256  FOURTH   OF  JULY 

with  a  spiteful  slam  of  the  door.  "  I  guess  we  can 
wet  a  piece  of  paper  an'  dry  it.  I  'm  glad  the  oP 
feller 's  got  a  chance  to  ha '  some  fun.  I  wish 't 
them  young  uns  was  a-goin'.  I  feel  the  wust  for 
them,  the  lunsome  leetle  creeturs." 

"  Oh,  we  '11  goin'  mek  it  fun  for  dem  lee'l  feller 
wid  aour  hwood'n  gaun.  Come  le'  's  we  '11  finish, 
'fore  de  folks  gat  up  on  de  haouse." 

Their  task  was  completed  without  further  inter- 
ruption, and  Joe  limped  afield  to  drive  home  the 
cows,  while  Hannah  silently  entered  the  house  and 
brought  out  saltpetre  from  the  pantry. 

The  veteran  came  hammering  down  the  stairs  on 
stiff  and  rheumatic  legs,  which  were  moved  to  un- 
wonted briskness  by  the  importance  of  the  service 
on  which  he  was  detailed.  In  honor  of  this  trust 
he  wore  a  clean  shirt  and  a  carefully  preserved  bell- 
crowned  hat,  all  that  he  had  in  latter  years  to  dis- 
tinguish his  holiday  attire  from  his  ordinary  dress. 

Presently  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  village,  and 
not  long  afterward  the  children  were  awakened  by 
the  thunder  of  the  four-pounder  served  by  him, 
now  the  most  important  person  in  the  throng  of 
early  risers.  Cy  Wingate,  the  disreputable  hero 
lately  returned  from  the  Mexican  War,  was  already 
too  drunk  for  duty. 

When  the  morning  chores  were  done,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warden  betook  themselves  to  Highfield's 
grand  centre  of  attraction.  The  mistress,  on  part- 


AT  HIGHFIELD   POORHOUSE  257 

ing,  enjoined  Hannah  to  keep  watch  of  the  old  hen 
turkey  and  her  young  ones,  while  Abel  suggested 
that  she  might  give  the  poor  folks  a  "  leetle  bigger 
dinner  'n  common,  an'  a  piece  o'  pie  all  raoun'." 
He  also  told  Joe  and  Bart  that  "  they  might  'muse 
'emselves  a-workin'  up  them  chunks." 

"  We  '11  gat  it  all  split  off  'fore  naght,  prob'ly. 
You  see  if  he  ant,"  said  Joe,  confidently,  with  a 
covert  wink  at  Hannah. 

It  seemed  to  Hannah  that  there  was  no  place  the 
turkey  and  her  brood  were  so  likely  to  stray  to  that 
day  as  a  wooded  pasture  hillside  that  overlooked 
the  village. 

Thither  she  led  Tommy  and  Janey,  and  there  the 
three  sat  in  the  shade,  listening  to  the  playing  of 
the  band,  the  roar  of  the  four-pounder,  and  the 
huzzas  of  the  patriotic  multitude.  They  watched 
the  flaunting  banners  and  drifting  powder  smoke 
till  it  was  high  time  for  Hannah  to  run  home  and 
get  dinner. 

In  the  afternoon  the  search  for  the  turkey  was 
continued  in  the  same  direction,  while  Joe  and 
Bart,  unconscious  of  the  fitness  of  the  day  to  such 
an  act,  for  the  time  declared  themselves  independ- 
ent of  the  Highfield  poorhouse,  and  ran  away  to 
enjoy  the  festivities  with  a  vigilant  eye  to  the 
chances  of  detection  by  the  Wardens. 

An  old  acquaintance,  whose  means  were  com- 
mensurate with  his  benevolence,  treated  them  to 


258  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

their  fill  of  gingerbread  and  spruce  beer,  and  the 
truants  went  home  at  late  "  cow-time  "  with  happy 
hearts. 

The  chores  done,  the  master  and  mistress  again 
departed  to  witness  the  closing  splendors  of  the 
day,  the  fireworks. 

When  they  were  well  out  of  the  way,  Joe 
primed  his  ordnance,  laid  the  matches  ready,  and 
as  the  sun  went  down,  limped  along  the  line  with 
a  coal  in  the  kitchen  tongs,  and  fired  one  after 
another  of  the  slow-matches.  Then  he  retired 
precipitately  to  the  cover  of  the  wood-pile,  where 
Hannah,  Bart,  and  the  children  crouched  in  breath- 
less ecstasy  of  trepidation. 

The  thirteen  sputtering  sparks  crept  along  the 
matches  like  so  many  glow-worms,  devouring  the 
paper  as  they  crawled  along.  As  the  first  reached 
the  powder,  there  was  a  spouting  jet  of  fire,  a 
deafening  report,  a  crash  of  rent  wood.  Fragments 
were  hurled  against  the  house,  the  upturned  milk- 
pails,  the  pans,  and  the  woodpile. 

Then  in  irregular  succession  came  another  and 
another  report,  till  almost  before  the  awed  behold- 
ers could  catch  their  breath,  the  last  two  logs  went 
off  together  in  a  final  burst  of  thunder. 

In  the  brief  silence  that  ensued,  the  plugs  came 
raining  down  in  an  intermittent  patter ;  and  then 
the  select  audience  lifted  up  their  voices  in  an 
enthusiastic  cheer. 


AT  HIGHFIELD  POORHOUSE  259 

The  unaccountable  uproar  was  heard  at  the 
village,  and  created  wonder  and  alarm  among  the 
throng  awaiting  the  display  of  fireworks. 

David  Butterworth,  the  first  selectman,  unhitched 
his  horse,  while  his  portly  wife,  who  insisted  on 
accompanying  him,  laboriously  climbed  into  the 
wagon,  and  drove  with  all  speed  to  the  poorhouse, 
followed  by  many  to  whom  this  new  point  of  inter- 
est offered  greater  attractions  than  did  the  regular 
exercises  of  the  evening. 

"  What  on  airth  's  the  matter  here  ?  "  the  father 
of  the  town  demanded,  as  he  drew  rein  in  the 
yard  where  stood  the  group  of  conspirators,  who 
were  contemplating  the  result  of  their  work  with 
great  satisfaction.  "  Is  the  haouse  blowed  up  ?  Is 
the'  anybody  hurt?" 

Joe  hung  his  head.  Bart  skulked  away.  The 
children  stared  at  the  new-comers  in  innocent 
wonder.  Hannah  alone  came  boldly  to  the  front. 

Resting  a  foot  comfortably  on  the  hub  of  a 
wheel,  grasping  the  rim  with  one  brawny  hand, 
and  putting  back  her  vexatious  locks  with  the  other, 
she  said  coolly,  — 

"  Gaw !  we  was  jest  a-bustin'  them  ellum  chunks, 
Mr.  Butterworth.  Me  an'  Joe  an'  Bart,  an'  part 
o'  the  time  Uncle  Isril,  he 's  ben  a-wheltin'  at  'em 
ever  sence  the  snow  went  off,  an'  never  got  half  a 
dozen  slabs  off.  An'  naow  jest  look  at  'em,  pooty 
nigh  kindlin'-wood  they  be  !  It  was  all  the  Fourth 


260  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

we  could  hev,  for  they  would  n't  let  us  go  nigh  the 
doin's.  An'  I  did  want  these  young  uns  should  hev 
a  little  fun." 

"Wai,  I  do'  know  as  the 's  any  harm  done," 
said  Mr.  Butterworth,  running  a  critical  eye  over 
the  shivered  slabs,  "  but  I  guess  you  'd  better  ha' 
asked.  Where  d'  ye  get  the  paowder  ?  " 

"Who'd  'a'  let  us  if  we  hed  ast?"  Hannah 
demanded.  "  It  was  taown  paowder,  Mr.  Butter- 
worth  —  some  'at  we  got  tu  shoot  crows,  an'  it 
wa'n't  wanted,  an'  we  jes'  took  it  for  Fourth  o' 
July.  We  're  'Mericans,  if  we  be  on  the  taown,  an' 
I  was  jest  sot  on  the  young  uns  hevin'  some  fun." 

"  Don'  you  say  a  word,  David,"  his  wife  whis- 
pered, nudging  him  persuasively  with  her  elbow. 
"I  don't  blame  'em  one  'mite,  poor  creeturs. 
Hain't  them  nice-lookin'  childern  ?  Hain't  it  too 
bad  to  hev  'em  brung  up  in  a  poorhaouse  ?  Say, 
David,  le  's  take  'em  daown  to  see  the  fireworks  ; 
an'  why  don'  you  let  'em  all  go  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  do'  know,  sca'cely,"  he  pondered,  with 
a  deliberation  becoming  his  high  position.  Then, 
coming  to  a  conclusion  that  was  irresistible  when 
his  wife's  will  led  thereto,  "  Yes,  I  guess  so !  Say," 
he  called  out,  suddenly,  as  if  with  a  self-evolved 
inspiration,  "  if  you  folks  want  to  go  an'  see  the 
fireworks,  go  right  along,  an'  you  young  uns  climb 
right  in  behind.  Hang  on  tight,  naow." 

Hannah  rushed   into  the   house,  and   presently 


AT  HIGHFIELD   POORHOUSE  261 

appeared  in  a  gown  more  curiously  and  wonder- 
fully made  than  the  one  of  every-day  wear.  The 
knot  of  spectators,  having  heard  of  the  important 
part  she  had  played  in  the  paupers'  celebration, 
raised  a  lusty  cheer  for  "  Hanner  Bates  an'  t'  other 
Fourth  o'  Julyers." 

"  Ah  tol'  you,  Baht,"  said  Joe  to  his  comrade, 
as  they,  as  a  rear  guard,  escorted  her  to  the 
village,  "M'sieu  Butterworse  was  de  bes'  s'leck- 
mans  dey  was  all  raoun',  an  Ah  '11  goin'  vote  for  it 
every  tarn  twice  on  March  meetin's,  me." 

"Say,  David,"  Mrs.  Butterworth  whispered, 
after  a  long,  backward  survey  of  the  happy  little 
faces,  still  discernible  in  gathering  twilight,  "I 
believe  we  '11  take  the  two  young  uns  right  home 
with  us  after  the  fireworks  is  aout.  They  're  too 
pooty  to  be  in  the  poorhaouse,  an'  would  be  an 
ornamint  to  any  fam'ly." 

As  their  presence  was  authorized  by  that  high 
dignitary,  the  first  selectman,  it  formed  no  small 
part  of  the  paupers'  enjoyment  of  the  evening  to 
take  a  conspicuous  place  among  the  spectators  and 
boldly  brave  the  angry  eyes  of  Mrs.  Warden. 

"  Ah  b'lieved,"  Joe  remarked  to  his  companions, 
after  a  backward  look  at  her,  "  de  hoi'  hwomans 
was  be  so  mad,  he  ant  see  no  funs  of  de  fireworks, 
prob'ly.  But  ye  wan'  keep  you  heye  peel,  Baht,  for 
see  dat  too-numery-fo-menshin  wen  he  was  touch 
off." 


262  FOURTH  OF  JULY  AT  THE  POORHOUSE 

"  Jest  look  at  them  porpers  a-settin'  right  in  the 
front  row ! "  Mrs.  Warden  said  with  smothered 
indignation  to  her  neighbor,  Mrs.  Brown.  "  They  '11 
be  uppisher  'n  ever  naow,  an'  land  knows  they  was 
bad  'nough  afore,  'specially  that  Hanner  !  " 

Then,  prudently  dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper, 
she  added,  "  Ol'  Butterworth  ort  to  hev  a  guardeen 
sot  over  him,  'stead  o'  him  bein'  s'lec'man.  But 
it 's  all  her  duin's.  See  her  a-cuddlin'  them  Hartly 
brats.  They  won't  git  much  cuddlin'  from  me  when 
I  git  'em  home,  I  can  tell  ye." 

But  she  never  "got  them  home."  Good  Mrs. 
Butterworth  kept  them  for  many  a  day  as  safe  as 
they  were  to-night  under  her  motherly  wing.  Their 
exclamations  of  delight  rang  out  unrestricted  among 
the  long-drawn  "  ohs  "  of  the  crowd  when  rockets 
shot  skyward  and  burst  into  falling  stars.  And 
"  oh  "  and  still  "  oh  "  they  sighed  while  fiery  wheels 
burned  in  a  whirl  of  many-colored  flame,  and 
marked  the  brilliant  close  of  a  Fourth  of  July 
never  forgotten  by  them. 


WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

"  WHY,  mother,  if  to-morrow  ain't  Thanksgivin' !  " 
said  Jacob  Bennett,  broaching  the  subject  as  if  it 
had  just  occurred  to  him,  though  one  might  have 
known  by  the  troubled  expression  of  his  kindly 
face  and  the  furtive  glances  cast  upon  his  compan- 
ions that  it  had  for  some  time  been  under  silent 
consideration. 

He  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  of  keenness 
with  a.  whetstone  to  an  axe  that  he  held  on  his 
knee,  with  the  helve  now  under  his  left  arm,  now 
resting  on  the  floor. 

Looking  at  Jacob  with  indifferent  interest,  was 
a  boy  of  fourteen  years,  who  sat  curved  to  a  restful 
attitude  with  his  feet  on  the  round  of  the  low, 
splint-bottomed  chair,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his 
chin  in  his  hand,  thankful  that  the  labor  of  turning 
the  grindstone  was  accomplished.  He  awaited  with 
resignation  the  beginning  of  the  next  task,  the  na- 
ture of  which  was  indicated  by  the  axe  that  leaned 
against  his  chair,  waiting  its  turn  on  the  whetstone. 

At  one  of  the  two  windows  which  lighted  the 
room,  stooping  a  little,  with  her  hands  on  its  ledge, 
stood  the  middle-aged  woman  whom  Jacob  ad- 
dressed. She  was  gazing  abstractedly  on  the  Novem- 


264    WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

her  landscape,  whose  cheerlessness  was  half  disguised 
by  the  thin  mask  of  the  first  snowfall. 

"Why,  so  'tis  Thanksgivin',  father  I"  she  ex- 
claimed, her  tone  dissembling  surprise  more  artfully 
than  her  face,  which  she  did  not  yet  venture  to 
turn  to  him,  for  she  knew  there  were  tears  on  her 
cheeks.  She  could  not  restrain  them  as  she  con- 
trasted the  ample  fare  of  bygone  Thanksgivings 
with  the  inevitable  meagreness  of  this  coming  one. 

Since  she  and  Jacob  were  married  all  their 
Thanksgivings  had  been  spent  in  the  homely  com- 
fort of  the  old  place,  as  they  always  called  their 
late  home  on  the  hundred-acre  farm.  Almost  a  year 
ago  they  were  forced  to  give  it  up,  because  Jacob 
had  signed  the  notes  of  a  speculating  friend  whose 
promising  ventures  had  at  length  miscarried. 

House,  farm,  and  stock  went  to  pay  another 
man's  debts,  and  Jacob  was  left  nearly  penniless, 
on  the  verge  of  old  age,  with  a  wife  as  old,  an  in- 
valid daughter,  and  a  son  scarcely  old  enough  to 
earn  his  own  living.  It  did  not  console  him  to  know 
that  Bentley  was  as  poor  as  himself,  nor  did  he  hope 
much  in  Bentley's  assurance,  as  the  speculator  set 
forth  with  unabated  faith  in  quest  of  fresh  fields,  — 

"  Never  you  fear,  Jacup,  ol'  man  ;  I  '11  fix  things 
all  right  yet." 

Jacob  bore  his  changed  fortune  patiently  and  set 
himself  to  earn  what  he  could  by  day  labor  for  the 
support  of  his  family.  He  was  faithfully  aided  by 


WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE    265 

his  wife  and  their  invalid  daughter,  who  was  cun- 
ning with  her  needle.  More  than  by  aught  else  he 
was  cheered  by  the  brave  spirit  with  which  they 
bore  their  misfortune. 

His  wife  covertly  wiped  her  cheeks  with  the  cor- 
ner of  her  apron  and  turned  from  the  window,  add- 
ing to  her  previous  exclamation,  u  It  sartainly  is, 
an'  I  hain't  got  anythin'  ready  for  't,  only  some 
punkin  pies." 

"  Wai,  punkin  pies  is  jest  the  thing  for  Thanks- 
givin'." 

"  Of  course  they  be,  but  they  kinder  want  some- 
thin'  to  help  'em  out,  seems  's  'ough,"  and  she 
thoughtfully  stroked  her  brow  with  thumb  and  fin- 
gers, "  an'  we  hain't  got  a  thing  provided,  only 
pork  an'  potatoes." 

"  An'  onions,"  Jacob  suggested. 

"  Why,"  said  the  daughter,  lifting  her  pale,  pa- 
tient face,  lighted  with  a  smile,  from  her  sewing, 
"  with  pork  fried  as  mother  fries  it,  an'  such  pota- 
toes as  we  've  got,  an'  onions  an'  punkin  pies,  I 
do'  know  what  better  anybody  need  ask  for.  I  wish 
everybody  had  as  good,  an'  I  'm  sure  we  can  be 
thankful  with  it  an'  for  it." 

"  You  're  always  thankful,"  said  her  mother, 
"  Thankful  by  name  an'  thankful  by  nature.  We 
named  you  well." 

"  I  'd  deserve  it  more  if  I  c'd  make  these  geth- 
ers  look  somehow,"  and  she  rocked  back  in  her 


266    WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

easy  chair  and  held  her  work  at  arm's  length  to 
examine  it  critically. 

44  Le'  me  see,"  and  her  mother  took  the  work  in 
her  strong  hands.  u  It  looks  nice  an'  even  's  if 
you  'd  counted  every  thread.  I  call  it  hahnsome, 
an'  right  as  a  trivet.  But  speakin'  o'  Thanksgivin', 
it  kinder  seems  's  'ough  there  'd  ought  to  be  some- 
thin'  stuffed  an'  baked  for  the  meat  victuals." 

"  Why  can't  we  have  a  turkey,  same  's  we  used 
to  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  without  changing  his  position 
or  diverting  his  gaze  from  his  father's  occupation. 

"  Turkeys  costs  money,"  said  his  father,  "  when 
you  don't  raise  'em." 

44  An'  that  we  hain't  done,"  said  the  mother, 
"  ner  yet  a  chicken,  which  I  'm  glad  we  hain't,  for 
they  'd  scratched  up  the  hull  garden,  it  bein'  so 
close  to  the  house.  A  garden 's  wuth  more  'n  chick- 
ens to  eat.  Still  I  wish  't  we  had  one  for  Thanks- 
givin'. But  we  '11  try  to  be  thankful  for  what  we '  ve 
got,  as  Thankful  says." 

"  An'  that  's  consid'able,  compared  to  what 
some  's  got,"  Jacob  said.  We  've  got  a  good  ruff 
over  our  heads,  an'  me  an'  Bub  's  earnin'  money 
'nought  to  pay  the  rent  on  't  for  six  months  to  come. 
We  chop  an'  put  up  our  two  cord  a  day.  I  tell 
you,  Bub  's  gettin'  to  be  a  master  hand  with  his 
axe.  An'  now  'at  he  's  got  a  chance  to  do  chores 
for  his  board  an'  go  to  school,  he  's  fixed  complete 
for  winter." 


WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE    267 

"  An'  Square  JBascom  says  I  c'n  come  home 
every  Sunday  !  "  cried  Bub. 

"  An'  I  'm  glad  to  get  such  lots  of  sewin',"  said 
Thankful.  "  I  can  earn  a  dollar  every  week." 

"  An'  we  're  all  tol'able  well ;  "  but  looking  over 
at  his  daughter,  the  father  supplemented  his  re- 
mark with,  "  that  is,  we  hain't  no  wus." 

44  An'  best  of  all  is,  we  've  got  one  'nother,"  said 
his  wife. 

"  That 's  so,  Mahaly  ! "  he  said,  fervently. 
"  Wai,  my  little  fall  chicken,"  addressing  the  boy 
as  he  arose  and  laid  the  whetstone  on  the  crowded 
mantelpiece,  "  if  mother  's  got  our  dinner  put  up, 
we  '11  be  off." 

The  tin  dinner-pail  was  ready  at  hand,  and 
shouldering  their  axes,  the  father  and  son  trudged 
across  the  fields,  making  a  new  brown  path  through 
the  sprinkled  whiteness. 

"  I  'm  afraid  father  misses  his  old-fashioned 
Thanksgivin'  dinner  turribly  ! "  Mahala  Bennett 
sighed,  as  she  watched  the  figures  lessening  on  the 
powdered  fields,  and  the  dun  streak  lengthening 
behind  them. 

"  No,  he  don't,  mother,"  Thankful  protested, 
"  only  for  you  an'  me.  I  know  by  the  looks  of  his 
face  that  was  all  he  was  thinkin'  of.  When  a 
body  's  disappointed  on  their,  own  account,  they  're 
apt  to  look  cross;  but  father  only  looked  sorry, 
and  tried  not  to  show  it." 


268    WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS   GAVE 

"  Well,  if  he  don't  mind  it,  we  won't.  But  I  did 
use  to  enj'y  fixin'  things  an'  havin'  our  friends 
come.  Hey,  ho,  hum  !  It  seems  sometimes  as  if 
our  friends  had  gone  with  the  turkeys." 

"  Oh,  no,  mother.  They  give  us  work,  an'  that 's 
the  best  thing  they  could  do  for  us.  But  if  they  all 
forsook  us,  we  've  got  one  'nother,  as  you  just 
said." 

"  So  we  have,  dear  heart ;  an'  whilst  we  have, 
we  can't  be  thankful  enough." 

Mahala  Bennett  took  her  needles  and  two  balls 
of  yarn,  one  of  blue,  the  other  of  white,  and  draw- 
ing a  chair  near  her  daughter's,  began  "  setting 
up  "  a  striped  mitten. 

"  I  'm  thankful  there 's  some  folks  sensible 
enough  to  'preciate  good  ol'-fashioned  yarn  mit- 
tens," she  remarked,  as  she  looped  the  double  blue 
yarn  on  a  needle  with  her  finger.  "  Miller,  down 
to  the  Holler,  says  he  c'n  sell  all  I  c'n  knit  for  a 
month,  an'  three  pair  a  week  ain't  no  great  stent." 

The  bracing  air,  tempered  by  unclouded  sun- 
light, stirred  the  blood  of  the  man  and  boy  alike 
with  healthful  vigor  as  they  trudged  across  the 
fields  and  entered  the  woods.  There  shadows  laced 
the  forest  floor  with  intricate  patterns  of  blue  where 
the  snow  lay  inch  deep  on  the  fallen  leaves,  and 
with  patches  of  deeper  dun  beneath  the  shelter- 
ing tents  of  the  hemlocks.  Every  brown,  out- 
stretched twig,  every  tiny,  close-wrapped  bud,  every 


WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS   GAVE    269 

"  sprangly  "  bloom  of  witch-hazel  had  its  coping 
and  cap  of  pearl,  gleaming  in  sunlight  or  blue  in 
shadow,  and  the  ranks  of  corded  wood  were  roofed 
with  it. 

The  new  covering  was  already  marked  with  the 
tracks  of  scampering  squirrels,  the  broad  pads  of 
hares,  the  pronged  print  of  the  partridge's  devious 
course,  the  dainty  seam  of  woodmice  paths.  Bear- 
ing straight  onward  among  them  went  the  sharply 
defined  footprints  of  a  fox,  as  if  he  had  been  im- 
pelled by  a  more  definite  purpose  than  the  other 
woodfolk. 

Birds  gave  audible  proof  that  they  were  astir  and 
alert  now.  A  party  of  jays  screamed  in  discordant 
unison,  chickadees  and  nuthatches  called  and  piped, 
a  woodpecker  hammered  industriously  for  his  hard- 
earned  breakfast,  a  partridge  went  booming  away 
like  a  gray  rocket  with  a  trail  of  snow  cloud  sink- 
ing softly  and  silently  behind  his  noisy  course,  a 
red  squirrel  jeered  at  the  two  intruders,  and  sent 
down  upon  them  a  sudden  but  brief  snow  shower 
from  the  hemlock  branch  on  which  he  scampered. 

The  boy's  ears  and  eyes  were  alert  for  all  sounds 
and  sights.  Before  he  delivered  the  first  axe-stroke 
upon  the  boll  of  a  great  basswood  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  strange  track  that  ended  at  its  foot. 

"  O  father  !  "  he  cried.  "  What  kind  of  a  track  's 
this  ?  It  looks  just  like  a  little  teenty-tawnty  boy's 
bare  foot." 


270     WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

Jacob  came  around  from  the  other  side,  and  after 
a  brief  inspection,  followed  by  a  careful  look  up 
the  tree,  answered  :  — 

"  Why,  Ikey,  it 's  a  coon,  an'  he 's  laid  up  for  the 
winter  in  this  here  tree.  See,  it 's  holler,"  and  he 
struck  his  axe-head  smartly  on  the  trunk,  which 
gave  forth  a  dull,  hollow  sound. 

"  An'  there  's  the  hole  up  there  'at  he  went  in. 
Now,  we  '11  just  have  his  pelt  nailed  up  on  the  wood- 
shed door.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  it  was  pretty  nigh 
prime,  for  it 's  had  three  r's  to  get  so  in." 

"How  do  you  mean,  father?  "  Isaac  asked. 

"  Why,  they  say  fur  's  good  in  ev'ry  month  that 's 
got  an  r  in  it,  but  it  ain't,  not  in  September  nor 
scacely  in  October,  an'  it  begins  to  git  faded  in 
April,  some  kinds  does.  But  now  it 's  most  Decem- 
ber, an'  —  an'  we  '11  just  go  for  the  feller,  seein' 
'at  we  're  goin'  to  git  down  half  a  cord  o'  wood  at 
the  same  lick !  Look  out  sharp  at  the  hole  when  the 
tree  comes  down,  for  like's  not  he'll  cut  an'  run. 
We  '11  fall  it  right  in  here  where  it 's  all  clear." 

So  saying  he  drove  his  axe  to  the  eye  in  the  soft 
wood,  while  Isaac  with  right  good  will  delivered 
his  less  effective  strokes  on  the  other  side.  When 
Jacob  had  driven  his  kerf  a  little  beyond  the  de- 
cayed centre,  and  paved  the  ground  about  him  with 
broad  chips  almost  as  white  as  the  snow,  he  heaved 
a  restful  sigh  and  went  around  to  the  other  side. 

"  Now,  Ikey,  you  just  stan'  off  out  there,  an'  keep 


WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE    271 

your  eye  on  the  hole,  the  minute  the  tree  falls,  an' 
if  he  offers  to  come  out  'fore  I  get  there,  whack  him 
on  the  head." 

Jacob  spat  upon  his  hands  and  resumed  his  chop- 
ping, expirating  with  each  blow  a  gasping  "  hah  " 
that  seemed  to  double  its  force,  and  Isaac  took  his 
post,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  trunk  where  the  first 
branches  stretched  abroad. 

Now  the  great  tree  shivered  at  every  stroke,  then 
tottered  on  its  sapped  foundations,  and  went  down 
with  an  accelerated  sweep  and  a  final  crashing 
boom. 

In  the  succeeding  moment  of  silence,  the  raccoon, 
so  suddenly  awakened  from  the  comfortable  win- 
ter's nap  into  which  he  had  just  fallen,  protruded 
his  black  and  gray  head  from  the  hole,  and  barely 
dodging  the  blow  that  Isaac  aimed  at  him,  came 
scrambling  out  with  more  speed  than  his  short  legs 
would  seem  to  warrant.  A  surer  blow  from  the 
more  deliberate  hand  of  Jacob  prevented  his  escape. 

With  a  shout  of  triumph  at  the  unexpected  sight, 
Isaac  lifted  the  limp  form  by  the  hind  leg  and 
heaved  it  across  the  fallen  trunk. 

"  Sakes  alive,  father,  he  's  as  heavy  as  a  pig. 
You  just  heft  him." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  good  one.  Fifteen  pounds  or  up- 
wards," said  Jacob,  after  careful  and  deliberate 
hand-weighing.  "An'  just  feel  o'  the  fur!  As 
thick  as  wool.  I  reckon  his  pelt  '11  fetch  half  a 


272    WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

dollar,  an'  you  shall  have  it  all.  Now  le'  's  skin  him 
'fore  he  gets  cold." 

So,  sitting  astride  the  log,  Isaac  held  the  legs 
while  his  father  ripped  and  carefully  stripped  the 
warm  coat  from  its  thick  lining  of  fat. 

"  It  looks  good  enough  to  eat,"  said  the  boy,  when 
the  skinned  carcass  was  laid  along  the  trunk. 
"  Ain't  coons  good  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Some  folks  does  eat  'em,  an'  allows  they  're  as 
good  as  roast  pig." 

"  Say,  father,  why  can't  we  have  it  for  Thanks- 
givin'?" 

The  father  shook  his  head. 

"  Sho,  Bub,  your  mother  would  n't  touch  it.  She 
spleens  agin  all  wild  meat  ever  sence  your  Uncle 
Isaac  blowed  off  his  fingers  bustin'  a  gun  a-shootin' 
a  pa'tridge.  I  don't  b'lieve  she  'd  cook  it,  to  say 
nothin'  of  eatin'  it." 

"  It  looks  just  as  good  as  a  pig,  an'  I  don't  see  why 
it  ain't,"  persisted  Isaac,  with  wistful  eyes  upon  the 
game.  Then  inspired  by  a  naughty  thought,  he  said, 
"  Say,  father,  why  can't  we  tell  mother  it  is  a  pig  ?  " 

"  Sho,  Bub,  that  'ould  be  lyin',"  said  his  father 
in  mild  reproof,  speculatively  regarding  the  rac- 
coon and  slowly  whetting  his  knife  upon  his  boot. 
Then  he  drew  the  carcass  to  him  and  began  to  dress 
it.  Having  neatly  performed  this,  he  cut  off  the 
feet  and  long,  bony  tail. 

"  But,"  he  said  at  last,  smiling  quizzically  on  the 


WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER   WOODS   GAVE    273 

boy,  who  curiously  watched  his  movements,  "  I  do' 
know  as  we  're  obliged  to  tell  a  body  exactly  what 
it  is.  We  '11  carry  it  home  an'  see.  Now  we  '11  go 
down  to  the  brook  an'  wash  our  hands,  an'  then 
we  '11  go  to  work." 

As  Isaac  dabbled  in  the  clear,  cold  water,  his 
wandering  glances  caught  the  gleam  of  scarlet  far 
up  the  brook ;  and  he  presently  returned  from  a 
tour  of  investigation  with  several  clusters  of  bright 
red  berries. 

"  Cramb'ries,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  there 's  snags 
of  'em." 

"  Good,"  said  his  father.  "  They  make  just  as 
good  sass  as  low-bush  cramb'ries,  only  seedier. 
We  '11  carry  home  some  on  'em,  an'  they  '11  go  prime 
with  our  roast  pig  or  four-legged  turkey  or  what- 
ever it  is.  An'  now  le'  's  get  to  choppin',  for  we  've 
got  to  put  up  our  two  cord  afore  night." 

This  they  accomplished,  and  at  nightfall  bore 
homeward  their  forest  trophy,  over  fields  that  a  day 
of  sunshine  had  made  brown  again. 

"  There,  mother,  see  what  we  fetched  you,"  cried 
Jacob,  holding  up  his  prize  before  his  wife. 

"  Where  in  the  livin'  earth  did  you  git  that  pig, 
Jacnp?  It  is  a  pig,  ain't  it?  "  she  asked,  scanning 
it  with  admiring  eyes  and  poking  its  fat  ribs  with 
a  cautious  forefinger. 

"It  was  give  to  me,  an'  you  ain't  to  ask  no 
questions,"  he  answered. 


274     WHAT   THE   NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE 

"  How  come  they  to  skin  it  ?  I  do'  know  as  I 
ever  see  a  pig  skinned  an'  the  feet  cut  off,  but  it 
does  look  real  nice." 

"You  mustn't  look  a  gift  hoss  in  the  mouth, 
Mahaly.  Mebby  they  wanted  the  skin  an'  mebby 
that 's  their  way  o'  dressin'  'em.  Just  look  o'  the 
cramb'ries  Bub 's  fetched.  He  found  'em  in  the 
woods;  an' ain't  they  nice  ones?"  While  the  atten- 
tion of  the  mother  and  daughter  was  diverted  to  the 
birch-bark  basket  of  berries,  he,  with  some  qualms 
of  conscience,  bore  his  prize  to  the  cellar  and  then 
hastened  out-of-doors  to  secrete  the  tell-tale  peltry. 

As  the  next  afternoon  advanced,  the  little 
kitchen  was  filled  with  a  savory  odor  of  baking 
meat  and  boiling  onions  that,  whenever  the  door 
was  opened,  escaped  abroad  in  appetizing  whiffs 
that  made  Isaac's  mouth  water  and  often  impelled 
him  to  forsake  his  outdoor  pastime  and  run  in  to 
note  the  progress  of  the  feast's  preparation. 

The  old  clock  never  before  ticked  off  the  seconds 
so  deliberately,  and  its  hands  never  lagged  along 
their  circular  path  so  slowly  as  on  this  day.  But 
at  last  the  hour  hand  arrived  at  the  figure  two,  the 
minute  hand  again  reached  twelve,  the  long,  pur- 
ring note  of  preparation  sounded.  As  the  second 
hour  was  struck,  the  little  family  gathered  around 
the  bountiful  board,  and  waited  with  bowed  heads 
while  the  father  devoutly  thanked  the  Giver  of  all 
blessings. 


WHAT  THE  NOVEMBER  WOODS  GAVE    275 

"  Now,  mother,  what  part  of  the  —  ah  —  critter 
will  you  try  ?  "  Jacob  asked,  as  he  skillfully  carved 
the  inviting  roast. 

"  A  leetle  of  the  brownest,  please,  Jacup,  an'  not 
but  a  mite.  I  've  been  over  it  so  much,  I  don't  seem 
to  hanker  after  it." 

No  one  but  Jacob  noticed  that  she  tasted  it 
cautiously  and  experimentally.  His  fears  were  soon 
relieved  by  seeing  that  her  appetite  grew  with  what 
it  fed  upon,  and  were  quite  dispelled  when  she 
permitted  him  to  help  her  again. 

When  the  dessert  of  pumpkin  pie  was  being 
served,  Jacob  beamed  a  complacent  smile  upon  his 
family  and  said  :  — 

"  Now  'at  we  've  eat  our  Thanksgivin'  meat,  I  'm 
goin'  to  make  bold  to  ask  you  one  an'  all  if  it 
wa'n't  good  ?  " 

With  one  voice  they  assented. 

"  An'  now,  not  to  be  desaitful,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  tell 
you  what  you  've  been  eatin'  of." 

"  You  need  n't  tell  me,  Jacup,"  said  his  wife, 
shaking  with  laughter.  "  It  was  'coon  !  " 

"  How  on  airth  did  you  know,  Mahaly  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  s'rnised  at  first  you  was  a-foolin',  an' 
when  I  see  a  great  long  black  and  white  hair  into 
the  meat,  I  knew  it  wa'n't  no  pig  that  it  ever 
growed  on  ;  and  when  I  come  to  find  the  ring- 
tailed  skin  under  a  barrel  in  the  woodshed,  it  was 
all  plain." 


276    WHAT  THE   NOVEMBER   WOODS   GAVE 

"  An'  you  went  right  on  an'  cooked  it  an'  eat  of 
it  just  to  please  me  and  the  children.  Wai,  I  say 
for  it,  Mahaly  Bennett,  you  be  a  good  woman  ! " 

She  poured  out  a  second  cup  of  tea,  cleared  her 
throat  and  began  with  hesitating  words :  — 

"  I  kind  of  forgot  —  an'  —  kind  of  hated  to  tell 
you  what  Mis'  Barker  said  yesterday,  Jacup." 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  with  a  piece  of 
pumpkin  pie  within  an  inch  of  his  open  mouth. 

"  Mis'  Barker's  cousin  'at  has  been  out  West, 
she  see  Abram  Bently ;  an'  the  land  he  bought  out 
there  ten  year  ago  for  most  nothin'  has  riz  so  on 
account  of  a  big  town  growin'  up  'long  side  of  it, 
'at  it 's  made  him  rich." 

"  You  don't  say  !  "  Jacob  laid  down  his  knife. 
"  Well,  I  'm  glad  on  't  for  his  sake  an'  for  ourn. 
He  '11  come  back  an'  pay  up  ev'ry  cent  he  owes  if 
he  's  able." 

"  That 's  what  she  says  he  says  he  '11  do ;  but  I 
shall  believe  it  when  I  see  it,"  and  she  shook  her 
head.  "  It 's  hard  paying  for  a  dead  horse." 

"  He  '11  do  it,  Mahaly,"  said  Jacob,  loyal  to  his 
absent  friend.  "  He  sartainly  will  if  he  's  able. 
O  Mahaly,  it  'most  takes  my  breath  away  to  think 
of  livin'  at  the  ol'  place  again.  I  can  finish  my 
dinner  with  a  thankfuller  heart  just  for  the  hope 
of  it." 


A  HOUSEWIFE'S  CALENDAR 

"  OH  dear  me,  suz !  If  that  hain't  too  bad  !  "  Mrs. 
Betsey  Blake  cried  in  almost  tearful  vexation,  as 
she  stepped  backward  from  the  stove,  and  with  a 
rueful  face  regarded  a  thin  stream  of  water  trick- 
ling from  a  crack  low  down  on  the  side  of  the  wash 
boiler  and  sputtering  into  a  cloud  of  steam  on  the 
hot  stove.  "  John  !  "  she  called,  in  a  voice  full  of 
trouble,  "  the  b'iler  's  leakin'  like  mad,  an'  it  looks 
just  as  if  nothin'  short  of  a  tinker  could  stop  it." 

Her  husband  came  into  the  kitchen  from  the 
woodshed  at  a  leisurely  pace,  and  with  an  air  of 
confidence  in  his  ability  to  cope  with  any  number 
of  leaky  boilers.  But  as  he  examined  the  irregular 
fissure  his  face  took  on  a  puzzled  and  then  a  more 
serious  expression. 

"  Maybe  you  might  stick  a  rag  into  it,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"No,  not  in  such  a  shaped  hole  as  that,"  she 
said  decisively,  and  began  dipping  the  water  out 
into  a  pail.  "  You  've  got  to  take  it  to  the  village 
and  have  it  soddered,  an'  that 's  all  there  is  about 
it.  It  '11  just  spoil  the  day,  so  I  can't  wash  afore 
to-morrow,  an'  that  '11  put  back  my  Thanksgivin' 
work.  Hain't  it  too  bad  ?  Dear  me,  I  most  wish 


278  A  HOUSEWIFE'S   CALENDAR 

we  had  n't  asked  father  an'  mother  an'  Abigail  to 
come." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  it 's  happened  so,  but  never 
mind.  You  11  fetch  things  round  all  right ;  you 
gen'ally  do,"  said  he,  so  confidently  that  her  spirits 
rose  above  the  present  disappointment. 

"  I  can  do  some  of  to-morrow's  work  to-day,  an' 
be  so  much  ahead,"  she  said,  and  before  he  was  on 
his  way  to  the  village,  she  had  half  a  pumpkin  pared 
and  stewing  in  the  place  of  the  boiler. 

Next  morning  the  mended  boiler  was  reinstated ; 
by  noon  the  delayed  washing  was  completed,  and 
Betsey  Blake  looked  out  complacently  from  her 
belated  dinner  upon  the  long  array  of  spotless 
clothes  fluttering  from  the  swaying  line,  like  tri- 
umphant banners.  In  the  afternoon  a  part  of  the 
ironing  was  done,  and  next  morning  she  arose  re- 
freshed, and  with  a  sense  of  relief  from  one  great 
labor  of  the  week. 

"  There,"  she  exclaimed,  sitting  down  for  a  mo- 
ment's rest,  after  clearing  the  breakfast  table, 
washing  the  dishes  and  sweeping  the  kitchen. 
"  Thank  goodness,  washin'  day  is  over  and  some  o' 
the  ironin'  done,  an'  now  it 's  only  Tuesday,  with 
two  whole  days  afore  Thanksgivin'  to  git  good  and 
ready  in." 

"Hey?  What?"  John  asked,  abstractedly,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  columns  of  the  last  paper,  absorbed 
in  an  editorial  on  the  Philippines. 


A  HOUSEWIFE'S  CALENDAR  279 

"Two  more  days  afore  Thanksgivin',"  Betsey 
repeated. 

"  Why,  yes,  so  there  is,"  said  he,  looking  up  at 
the  clock,  as  if  for  confirmation.  "  I  was  kind  o' 
thinkin'  this  was  Wednesday,  but  could  n't  make 
it  seem  just  right." 

"  Of  course  it 's  Tuesday,  for  I  washed  yester- 
day," said  she,  with  convincing  assurance.  "  And 
now  I  'm  goin'  to  make  my  cramb'ry  sass  an'  my 
mince  an'  apple  pies.  I  shall  leave  my  punkin 
pies  for  to-morrow,  for  I  want  them  fresh.  This 
arternoon  you  'd  better  kill  the  turkey  and  dress 
him  so  't  he  '11  have  a  good  long  spell  to  hang ; 
they  're  heaps  better  so  'n  they  be  to  fly  into  the 
oven.  And  then  to-morrow  you  can  git  Silas  an' 
go  arter  your  load  o'  wood;  mebby  you  can  git 
two." 

As  John  Blake  drove  his  lumber  wagon  along 
the  road  the  next  morning  on  his  way  to  the  wood 
lot  he  noticed  that  an  indolent  atmosphere  seemed 
to  pervade  the  few  farmhouses  which  he  passed, 
but  it  only  impressed  him  as  a  rather  early  sign  of 
the  coming  holiday. 

He  found  Silas  Day  cutting  firewood  at  his  door, 
looking  somewhat  surprised  at  his  appearace,  and 
more  so  at  the  request  to  go  to  the  woods. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  s'pose  I  can  go  an'  help  you  a 
spell,"  he  answered,  "arter  I  cut  Phebe  a  speck 
more  wood  ;  she  '11  want  consid'able  to-day." 


280  A  HOUSEWIFE'S  CALENDAR 

"  Yes,  gettin'  ready  so  for  Thauksgivin'.  Betsey 
is,  too,  busy  as  a  bee  in  a  tar  barrel." 

Presently  they  were  jolting  over  the  rough  by- 
road, too  much  shaken  for  comfortable  conversa- 
tion until  they  came  to  a  halt  in  the  quiet  of  the 
bare  November  woods. 

"  I  don't  hardly  see  how  you  come  to  put  off  git- 
tin'  your  wood  till  to-day,"  said  Silas,  looking  up 
through  the  netted  branches  at  the  climbing  sun. 

"  Well,  I  had  a  lot  of  things  to  tend  to,  an' 
could  n't  get  roun'  to  it.  I  s'pose  I  might  ha'  waited 
till  arter  Thanksgivin',  but  thought  I  might  as  well 
git  it  afore." 

Silas  stared  at  him  and  muttered,  "  Runnin' 
pretty  clus  to  the  wind,  I  should  think." 

After  they  had  plied  their  axes  awhile,  John 
struck  his  into  a  log,  and  going  to  his  coat  drew  a 
package  from  a  pocket. 

"  I  always  did  relish  victuals  in  the  woods,  and 
so  I  fetched  along  some  bread  an'  meat.  Le'  's  set 
down  an'  take  a  bite." 

"Well,  I  can  mos'  always  eat,"  Silas  assented, 
as  he  took  his  alloted  share  and  sat  down  beside 
his  companion,  munching  the  bread  and  meat  and 
letting  his  eyes  rove  about  as  people  are  apt  to  do 
when  eating  out  of  doors.  A  company  of  chicka- 
dees were  busily  gathering  their  slender  fare  on  a 
low  branch  before  him,  and  on  a  higher  one  a  red 
squirrel  began  rasping  a  butternut. 


A  HOUSEWIFE'S  CALENDAR  281 

"Eatin'  their  Thanksgivin'  dinner,"  Silas  said, 
nodding  at  the  little  banqueters. 

44  Make  'em  a  tol'able  long  meal  if  they  keep  it 
up  till  to-morrow  arternoon.  Hush  !  What  be  they 
ringin'  the  meetin'  house  bell  for  ?  "  John  asked, 
excitedly,  as  the  mellow  tones  of  a  church  bell  were 
wafted  to  their  ears. 

"  Why,  don't  they  always  ?  "  Silas  asked,  glaring 
curiously  at  his  companion. 

"  Why,  Silas,  you  know  they  don't  never,  only 
Sundays  and  Fast  Days  and  Thanksgivin',  except 
funerals,  an'  there  ain't  nobody  dead,  not  as  I 
know  of." 

44  Look  a  here,  John  Blake,"  said  Silas,  "  be  you 
crazy  or  be  you  foolin'  ?  You  act  all  the  time  as  if 
you  was  makin'  b'lieve  this  wa'n't  Thanksgivin' 
Day,  sot  by  the  Gov'nor  an'  bein'  kep'  by  every- 
body but  you  an'  I.  Now,  quit  your  nonsense  an' 
le  's  hurry  up,  for  I  want  to  git  home.  We  hain't 
got  no  turkey,  but  Phebe  had  three  as  neat  chickens 
as  ever  you  see  all  ready  to  go  int'  the  oven 
when  I  come  away,  an'  the  childern  's  all  goin'  to  be 
there,  an'  I  want  to  be  on  hand,  to  rights." 

John's  face  grew  blank ;  his  eyes  stared,  unsee- 
ing, into  space. 

44  Good  gracious  Peter  !  If  Betsey  an'  me  hain't 
done  it !  "  Then  springing  to  his  feet, 44  Hurry  up  ! 
I  should  say !  Most  noon  Thanksgivin'  Day,  Bet- 
sey's father  an'  mother  an'  sister  a-comin',  an' 


282  A  HOUSEWIFE'S   CALENDAR 

the  turkey  a-hangin'  up  in  the  cellar  if  she 's  kep' 
a-dreamin'  as  long  as  I  have.  It  all  come  o'  that 
plaguey  oP  wash  b'iler  spring-in'  a  leak  Monday,  so 
she  could  n't  wash  till  Tuesday,  an'  we  counted  from 
that.  Never  mind  the  tarnal  wood.  Onhitch  the 
ho'ses  an'  le  's  scoot." 

Five  minutes  later  the  team  was  tearing  down 
the  road,  the  bounding  wagon  sending  far  and  wide 
its  thundering  echoes  that  brought  forth  alarmed 
inmates  from  many  a  farmstead,  while  Silas  hung 
on  for  dear  life,  as  disjointed  pleas  and  protests 
were  jolted  from  him,  all  unheeded  by  the  reckless 
driver. 

Deacon  Adams  in  his  Sunday  suit,  less  the  coat, 
was  standing  in  the  midst  of  his  Sunday-dressed 
household,  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand  and  dis- 
appointment on  his  face  that  was  repeated  in  vari- 
ous degrees  on  the  faces  of  the  family.  Hearing 
the  unwonted  din,  the  deacon  rushed  forth  to  as- 
certain the  cause. 

"  Stop  !  Stop !  Hold  on  !  "  he  cried  running  out 
into  the  road,  and  John,  impatient  of  delay,  drew 
rein. 

44  What  on  this  livin'  airth,  John,  is  the  matter  ? 
Is  somebody  sick  or  have  you  b'en  takin'  more  'n 
you  'd  ought  to  ?  " 

44  No,  there  hain't  nobody  sick,  and  I  hain't  b'en 
a-drinkin',"  said  John,  and  rapidly  set  forth  the 
awkward  situation. 


A  HOUSEWIFE'S   CALENDAR  283 

"  You  wait  a  minute,  and  I  '11  fix  you  up  right 
as  a  trivet,"  said  the  deacon,  still  restraining  his 
impatient  neighbor.  "  1 11  lend  you  a  turkey,  all 
roasted  and  ready  to  go  ont'  the  table.  I  'd  live- 
ser  'n  not,  an'  so  would  Mis'  Adams.  You  see,  we 
invited  my  brother  Iry  and  all  his  folks,  and  we  'd 
got  two  roustin'  big  turkeys  int'  the  oven  and  half 
roasted  when  there  come  a  letter  from  'em  sayin' 
how  Iry  'd  up  an  broke  his  leg  and  they  would  n't 
none  of  'em  come.  I  don't  want  to  be  eatin'  cold 
turkey  for  a  week  arter  Thanksgivin',  and  it's 
providential  'at  yourn  missed  fire." 

Suitable  provision  was  made  for  the  safe  trans- 
portation of  the  hot  turkey  the  short  distance,  and 
John  Blake  went  his  way  with  it,  relieved  in  spirit. 

Meanwhile  Betsey  had  spent  half  the  forenoon 
leisurely  preparing  for  the  morrow's  festivity,  glad 
to  be  unembarrassed  by  the  presence  of  men  folks 
and  uninterrupted  by  any  visitors  until  a  timid  rap 
called  her  to  the  door,  and  she  opened  it  to  Silas 
Day's  little  daughter. 

"  Why,  Mandy,  is  this  you  ?  Is  there  anything 
the  matter  to  your  house?"  Betsey  asked,  in  evi- 
dent surprise. 

"  No,  ma'am  —  yes,  ma'am,  I  mean,  some  mat- 
ter," Mandy  stammered.  "The  cat  got  int'  the 
buttry  an'  eat  up  a  whole  punkin  pie,  all  but  the 
crust,  an'  ma  wants  to  know  if  you  can't  lend  her 
one,  'cause  there  ain't  enough  left  to  go  round." 


284  A  HOUSEWIFE'S   CALENDAR 

"  A  punkin  pie  ?  Come  in  and  set  down.  Why, 
I  hain't  got  none  baked.  Wa'n't  goin'  to  till  this 
arternoon.  Your  ma  can  have  one  to-morrow,  an' 
I  s'pose  that 's  what  she  wants  it  for." 

Mandy  stared  at  her,  round-eyed  and  open- 
mouthed.  "  No,  ma'am,  she  wants  it  to-day." 

"  Well,  she  can't  have  it  of  me  afore  night. 
How  comes  it  you  hain't  to  school  ?  " 

"  The'  hain't  no  school  to-day." 

"  Hain't  no  school  ?   Is  the  schoolma'an  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  she  went  home  to  Thanksgivin'." 

"  What !  Lose  two  whole  days  for  Thanksgivin'  ? 
That 's  ridic'lous,"  Mrs.  Blake  declared,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  Why,  no  ;  she  's  comin'  back  to-night  or  in  the 
mornin'." 

"An'  not  keep  Thanksgivin'  in  her  own  home? 
That 's  ridic'louser." 

"  Why,  Mis'  Blake,  she  's  keepin'  it  to-day  at 
her  own  home,"  said  Mandy,  staring  with  still 
wider  eyes  at  her  hostess.  "  This  is  Thanksgivin' 
Day  ! " 

"  It  hain't !  "  Mrs.  Blake  made  this  assertion 
stoutly,  but  she  was  beginning  to  feel  sickening 
qualms  of  doubt. 

"  It  sartain  is,  Mis'  Blake,  'cause  ma 's  roastin' 
three  chickens,  an'  we  're  all  to  home,  and  oh,  my, 
you  'd  ought  to  smell  it  to  Deacon  Adamses  as  I 
come  by." 


A  HOUSEWIFE'S   CALENDAR  285 

"  My  land  o'  goodness ! "  the  poor  woman 
gasped,  sinking  into  a  chair  in  complete  collapse, 
as  the  mistake  became  undeniably  evident.  "  I  've 
skipped  a  day,  I  do  b'lieve.  It  all  come  o'  that 
mis'able  b'iler  leakin'  so 't  I  could  n't  wash  Mon- 
day." 

The  rumble  of  wheels  caught  her  ear.  She  cast 
an  appalled  glance  out  of  the  window.  "And 
there,  if  there  hain't  mother  an'  father  an'  Abi- 
gail a-drivin'  up  this  minute,  and  the  turkey  not 
singed  nor  the  stuffin'  made,  nor  a  punkin  pie 
made !  Thank  goodness  't  ain't  his  folks  !  There  's 
mince  and  apples  pies  enough.  Mandy,  you  git 
one  o'  each  kind  and  take  'em  home  —  but  what 
shall  I  do?" 

She  put  on  a  brave  face  to  mask  her  mortifica- 
tion, as  she  went  out  to  meet  her  guests,  whom  she 
wished  miles  away,  in  spite  of  her  longing  to  see 
them.  But  when  she  invited  them  into  the  unready 
house,  and  tried  to  make  a  joke  of  her  mistake,  and 
saw  the  look  of  disappointment  steal  over  the  faces 
of  her  sharp-set  travelers,  her  feigned  laughter 
broke  into  genuine  sobs.  Then  John  Blake  sud- 
denly appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  depressed  group, 
bearing  the  borrowed  turkey,  which  in  the  nick  of 
time  made  a  joke  of  the  mistake  and  turned  fasting 
to  feasting. 


THE   GOODWIN  SPRING 

"  Ho,  hum !  I  hain't  wuth  a  row  o'  pins,"  said 
Jerry  Goodwin,  coming  in  at  the  open  kitchen 
door  with  short,  rheumatic  steps,  and  the  backs  of 
his  begrimed  hands  pressed  against  his  loins,  the 
crooked  fingers  spread  wide  apart  in  abhorrence  of 
gritty  contact  with  each  other. 

He  went  over  to  the  backless  lounge  that  was 
spread  with  a  checkered  blue  and  brown  blanket 
and  pillowed  with  a  cushion  covered  with  calico  of 
a  newer  pattern  than  that  of  the  valance.  After 
slowly  lowering  himself  till  he  had  no  further  con- 
trol of  his  stiff  joints,  he  let  himself  fall  in  a  sit- 
ting position  and  crossed  his  wrists  over  his  knees 
so  that  he  might  still  keep  his  hands  and  fingers 
apart.  "  Poo,  hoo ! "  he  sighed,  and  bewailed  the 
decline  of  his  strength.  "  No,  sir,  mother,  I  hain't 
wuth  a  jew's-harp.  I  can't  stan'  nothin'." 

He  looked  at  the  naked  old  clock  whose  wooden 
wheels  were  exposed  to  curious  eyes  and  clogging 
dust,  and  whose  deliberate  pendulum  and  slow 
weights  swung  and  dangled  in  open  space. 

"  Ha'  past  nine,"  he  said.  "  I  hain't  ben  aout  in 
the  garden  on'y  an  haour  a  pullin'  weeds  an'  a 


THE  GOODWIN   SPRING  287 

wras'lin'  'raotmd  wi'  my  hoe,  an'  a  killin'  bugs,  an' 
I  'in  tireder  'n  a  dawg,  an'  you  can't  see  where  I 
ben.  No,  I  hain't  goo'  for  nothin'." 

"  Sho  !  Yis  you  be,  tew,"  his  wife  said  in  as 
cheerful  a  tone  as  her  hoarse,  toothless  voice  could 
assume,  and  giving  so  little  heed  to  his  complaint, 
that  her  intent,  spectacled  eyes  were  not  taken 
from  the  peas  that  she  was  picking  over  after  shell- 
ing. "  The'  hain't  no  forarder  garden  'an  aourn  no- 
wheres,  an'  I  do'  know  who  's  tended  it  if  you  hain't. 
I  '11  be  baound  the'  hain't  nob'dy  got  sech  marrer- 
fats.  Shah  !  I  've  spilt  one.  There  't  is  right  over 
there  by  your  left  heel,  no,  your  right  one.  There, 
you  've  squshed  it !  Wai,  nev'  mind,  I  guess  the'  '11 
be  'uough  'thaout  it,  but  I  du  hate  tu  see  good  vict- 
uals wasted.  Yis,  you  be  goo'  for  suthin'.  The'  's 
more  days'  works  in  ye  naow  'n  the'  is  in  half  these 
'ere  snipper-snapper  young  fellers." 

"  A  gardin  don't  'maount  tu  nothin',"  he  said, 
gathering  the  fragments  of  the  crushed  pea  and 
nursing  them  in  his  palm.  "  Ju'  look  o'  the  corn  ! 
Ju'  look  o'  the  'taters  !  Weeds  a-smotherin'  on  'em. 
An'  I  do'  know  haow  on  airth  I  'm  a  goin'  tu  git 
the  hayin'  done.  I  tell  ye,  it  hain't  no  use  o'  me  a 
wrastlin'  wi'  farmin'  no  longer.  It 's  a  'tarnal  hard 
farm  tu  git  a  livin'  aouten  on  for  a  young  man,  an' 
I  hain't  young  nor  got  no  means  tu  hire  work  done. 
We  might  jes'  's  well  sell  aout,  'Senath,  or  let  it 
tu  halves." 


288  THE   GOODWIN   SPRING 

"  Wai,  we  won't  never  let  it,"  his  wife  said  de- 
cidedly, as  she  took  up  the  basin  of  peas  and  the 
p:iil  of  pods  and  bustled  briskly  across  to  the  sink. 
"  I  won't  never  set  in  the  corner  an'  see  other  folks 
duiii'  wi'  my  things,  an'  this  ruff  hain't  big  enough 
to  kiver  tew  fam'lies.  The'  hain't  no  ruff  big 
enough." 

"  Wai,  I  s'pus  so,  an'  I  cal'late  we  '11  haffter  sell 
aout.  We  could  live  long  o'  brother  Joel's  darter 
over  tu  Adams.  Her  man's  tol'  me  time  an'  agin 
'at  we  'd  be  more  'n  welcome." 

"  An'  be  laid  on  the  shelf  like  a  cracked  platter 
'at  hain't  trusty  tu  be  used  an'  jes'  stays  there  an' 
gethers  dust.  An'  you.  've  allus  felt  as  if  you 
wanted  tu  walk  your  own  floor  boards  no  matter  if 
they  be  short  an'  narrer,  an'  I  do'  know  but  I  sh'ld 
feel  lunsome,  myself."  As  she  spoke  Asenath 
Goodwin  looked  from  the  door  at  her  flower-bed 
close  to  the  little  brown  house,  already  brave  with 
pinks,  sweet  peas,  and  "  sturtions "  in  bloom. 
"  Haow  nice  my  mornin'  glories  be  cornin'  on  sence 
you  watered  'em  so  good !  Ther'  's  lots  o'  life  f er 
ev'y thing  in  that  'ere  spring  water." 

"  I  never  c'ld  see  what  possessed  father  tu  pitch 
on  sech  a  mis'able  right  o'  land  when  he  hed  the  hul 
taown  to  pick  aout  on  ef  it  wa'n't  fer  that  spring. 
He  did  hev  jedgement  on  that  p'int,  fer  the'  hain't 
another  sech  spring  nowheres.  I  sh'ld  hate  dreffly 
tu  part  with  V 


THE  GOODWIN  SPRING  289 

"  I  know  ye  would,  it 's  so  full  o'  life  when  it 's 
fresh  brought."  As  she  spoke  she  poured  a  dipper  of 
the  clear  spring  water  into  the  basin  of  peas,  swash- 
ing them  about  with  her  hand  and  skimming  off  the 
imperfect  ones  that  floated  upon  the  surface.  "It 
don't  seem  as  'ough  I  c'ld  ever  relish  no  other  wa- 
ter. I  've  drinked  it  by  spells  ever  sence  I  was  a 
leetle  gal  an'  fust  begun  a-goin'  tu  school  an'  we 
use'  tu  stop  an'  drink  aout  on't  ev'y  mornin'  an' 
night  an'  come  up  here  noons  tu  eat  aour  dinner 
when  it  was  pleasant.  Land !  I  c'n  see  jest  haow 
my  face  use'  tu  look  in  't  when  I  knelt  daown  an' 
drinked  aout  on  't  when  I  was  a  leetle  snip  of  a  gal, 
an'  when  I  got  growed  'most  up,  my  cheeks  a-wrink- 
lin'  up  an'  a-smoothin'  aout  wi'  the  ripple  an'  my 
teeth  a-inixin'  up  wi'  the  white  pebbles  in  the  bot- 
tom an'  my  cheeks  an'  hair  wi'  the  shadders  o'  the 
red  an'  yaller  leaves  so  's  't  I  couldn't  tell  which 
from  t'  other.  Land,  they  don't  look  much  as  they 
did  then !  The  wrinkles  stays  all  the  time,  an'  the 
teeth  is  perty  nigh  gone  an'  the  hair  an'  the  cheeks, 
they  're  shadders  o'  dead  beech  leaves  'at  's  ben 
snowed  on.  Massy  sakes !  what  a  humbly  ol'  crit- 
ter I  be  !  "  She  laughed  with  a  pathetic  attempt  at 
mirthfulness  and  a  disregard  of  lost  youth  as  she 
glanced  at  her  double  in  the  unflattering  looking- 
glass. 

"No,  no,"  said  Jerry  in  a  comforting  voice. 
"  You  look  jes'  as  well  as  ever  you  did,  an' l  harn- 


290  THE   GOODWIN  SPRING 

some  is  'at  harnsome  does,'  an'  that  means  you 
ev'y  time.  So  there  !  " 

A  flash  of  ruddy  color  shone  through  the  dead 
leaf  tint  of  the  old  wife's  cheeks  and  her  face 
brightened  with  a  smile. 

"  You  're  jest  a-talkin',  father." 

"  It 's  gospel  truth,"  said  he.  "  The'  can't  no- 
b'dy  say  but  what  you  've  done  harnsome." 

"  Mebby  I  've  tried  tu  du  as  nigh  right  as  I 
knowed  haow,  but  land  knows,  I  've  fell  a  good 
ways  short  on  't,"  she  answered  with  a  sigh ;  and 
then  after  a  little  silence  said,  "  But  that  don't 
signify !  I  don't  see  haow  we  're  a-goin'  tu  sell  the 
place  if  we  want  tu.  The'  hain't  nob'dy  wants  tu 
buy  it,  erless  it 's  some  o'  them  French,  an'  I  can't 
stan'  the  idee  o'  them  a-gabbin*  an'  a-swearin'  an' 
a-dancin'  in  the  haouse,  like  's  not  in  the  square 
room  where  aour  little  Jerry  was  sick  so  long,  an' 
makin'  it  all  smell  o'  onions  the  hul  endurin'  time." 

She  cast  a  fond  look  around  the  neat  room,  the 
white-washed  walls,  the  scoured  wood-work  and  the 
spotless  floor,  then  took  a  sniff  of  its  cleanly  odors 
of  sound  old  unpainted  pine  and  of  fresh  lime, 
and  the  faint  savor  of  wholesome  cooking  mingled 
with  wafts  of  tansy  and  old-fashioned  pinks  and 
camomile  that  came  in  through  the  open  windows. 

"  I  ben  a  studyin'  on 't  conside'able,"  said  Jerry, 
"  an'  I  kinder  cal'lated  we  'd  better  see  that  Fitch 
feller  an'  hev  him  put  it  in  his  paper.  Like  'nough 


THE  GOODWIN  SPRING  291 

that  'ould  fetch  someb'dy  'at  we  'd  be  willin'  tu  hev 
buy  it." 

"Like  'nough  mebby  it  would,  an'  it  'ould  be 
someb'dy  'at  'ould  'preciate  the  spring.  I  shouldn't 
expect  nothin'  but  what  these  creeturs  'ould  let  the 
hosses  an'  cattle  trample  an'  rile  it  all  up." 

"  I  guess  I  '11  g'wup  an'  git  a  pailf '!,"  Jerry  said, 
overcoming  the  stiffness  of  his  joints  with  a  sudden 
effort  and  rising  to  his  feet.  He  washed  his  hands 
at  the  sink  with  a  liberal  allowance  of  soft  soap  till 
cleaned  of  garden  soil,  and  got  the  fingers  into 
neighborliness  with  one  another  and  himself,  re- 
marking of  the  water,  "  It  suds  julluck  rain  water." 
Taking  the  pail  he  hurried  away  to  the  spring,  as 
if  to  forestall  such  desecration  as  his  wife  foretold. 

A  path  worn  hard  and  smooth  between  borders 
of  knotgrass  and  plantain  led  to  the  famous  spring 
that,  beneath  a  great  fern-crowned  rock  of  red  sand- 
stone, bubbled  and  seethed  like  a  boiling  pot,  into  a 
pebbled  basin  rimmed  with  a  rank  growth  of  ferns 
and  mint,  that  was  scarcely  parted  where  the  water 
stole  silently  to  widen  into  a  little  brook  that  went 
babbling  merrily  on  its  stony  way  to  the  river.  A 
big  bullfrog  sat  embowered  on  the  brink  winking 
in  solemn  contemplation,  till  Jerry  stooped  to  fill 
the  pail,  then  plunged  in  with  a  dissatisfied  croak 
and  jerked  across  the  pool,  disturbed  and  magnified 
by  the  rumpled  water  till  he  reappeared  in  proper 
person  on  the  other  side  to  regard  the  frequent  in- 


292  THE  GOODWIN  SPRING 

truder  from  a  safer  point  of  view.  At  the  double 
splash  of  frog  and  pail,  a  score  of  minnows  flashed 
like  a  flight  of  bronze  and  silver  arrows,  shot  be- 
neath the  water  and  disappeared  in  the  crevices  of 
the  rock.  The  old  man  set  the  filled  pail  on  the  flat 
stone  where  he  stood  and  took  repeated  draughts 
from  a  birch-bark  dipper  that  was  always  kept  at 
the  spring,  following  each  draught  with  a  satisfied 
sigh. 

"  The'  hain't  another  sech  a  spring  o'  water  this 
side  o'  Jeruslum,"  and  he  replaced  the  dipper  on 
the  shelf  of  rock  and  looked  down  on  the  noiseless 
boil  of  the  pool  in  the  pride  of  ownership.  "  Cold 
'nough  in  summer  tu  make  your  thrut  ache,  an' 
warm  as  milk  in  winter,  an'  'nough  on  't  tu  water  a 
thaousan'  yoke  o'  oxen.  A  farm  'at 's  got  sech  water 
ort  tu  fetch  suthin'  if  it  won't  raise  white  beans." 

He  took  up  the  pail,  and  with  frequent  shifts  of 
it  from  hand  to  hand,  stumped  back  to  the  house, 
where  with  fresh  proof  of  its  quality  the  praises  of 
the  spring  were  again  sounded. 

44  It  don't  seem  's  if  I  c'ld  live  where  I  could  n't 
git  a  holt  o'  that  'ere  spring  water,"  Asenath  Good- 
win said,  drinking  the  last  of  it  in  her  tumbler,  as 
the  two  sat  at  the  table  after  their  comforting 
dinner. 

44  Wai,  we  can't  live  on  jest  spring  water,  if  it  is 
the  best  the'  is." 

44 1  know  that,  an'  aour  dinner  hain't  ben  all  col' 


THE  GOODWIN  SPRING  293 

water,  nuther.  Them  peas  an'  pertaters  is  jes'  's 
good  fer  victuals  as  the  spring  water  is  fer  water." 

"  So  they  be,  cooked  as  you  cook  'em,"  her  hus- 
band said  more  cheerfully  and  with  hearty  good 
will. 

"  Then  agin,  think  o'  livin'  where  all  the  drink- 
in'  water  comes  through  pump  logs  a-losin'  all  its 
life,  or  wus  still  in  lead  pipe  full  o'  p'isen,  an'  like 
'nough  comin'  f'm  a  brook  er  a  river  'at  takes  all 
the  dumpin's  of  a  village  er  tew." 

"It  fairly  makes  me  dry  tu  hear  ye  talk,  'Se- 
nath,"  and  Jerry  poured  out  a  tumblerful  of  the 
precious  water  and  held  it  up  to  admire  the  purity 
of  the  liquid  before  drinking  it. 

As  his  wife  deftly  cleared  the  dinner  away  and 
Jerry  settled  himself  on  the  old  lounge  for  his  cus- 
tomary after-dinner  rest,  she  quietly  remarked  :  — 

"  Like  'nough  when  you  git  up,  father,  you  '11  feel 
like  goin'  tu  see  that  'ere  printer  feller."  Keceiv- 
ing  no  reply  she  presently  asked,  "What  price 
'ould  you  put  on  the  place  if  you  was  ast  ?  " 

"  Not  no  price !  I  would  n't  part  wi'  tha*  'ere 
spring  fer  its  weight  in  gold." 


THE  MOLE'S  PATH 

WHEN  Hannah  Wray  was  left  alone,  more  than 
seventy  years  ago,  by  the  death  of  her  father,  an 
active  worker  in  the  anti-slavery  cause,  it  was  not 
the  least  of  her  sorrows  that  she  could  not  continue 
his  work.  The  Wray  house,  so  easily  distinguish- 
able by  strangers  and  wayfarers  because  of  its 
gambrel  roof  and  the  two  tall  Lombardy  poplars 
that  were  its  landmarks  afar  off,  was  no  longer  a 
frequented  station  of  that  dark  thoroughfare  that, 
unseen  and  often  unsuspected,  like  the  mole's  path 
beneath  the  meadow  turf,  formed  a  network  through 
our  Northern  States.  Along  its  secret  lines  many 
dusky  travelers  passed  in  safety  on  their  long 
journey  through  the  Land  of  the  Free  to  the  liberty 
denied  them  in  it. 

Hannah  was  of  too  timid  a  nature  to  take  a 
place  in  the  aggressive  ranks  of  the  Abolitionists. 
She  could  not,  even  though  the  Spirit  moved  vehe- 
mently, bring  herself  to  bear  testimony  in  Friends' 
meeting  among  her  own  people.  It  was  out  of  the 
question  for  a  lone  woman  to  harbor  unknown 
men  coming  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  So  she  tried 
to  content  herself  with  subscribing  to  the  state  anti- 
slavery  paper,  with  making  her  small  contributions 


THE  MOLE'S  PATH  295 

to  the  cause,  and  with  gathering  donations  of  cloth- 
ing for  the  fugitives  in  Canada  West.  Thither  had 
gone,  in  accordance  with  his  wishes,  her  father's 
entire  wardrobe,  shad-bellied  brown  coats,  long  drab 
waistcoats,  and  barn-door  breeches,  with  under- 
clothes made  of  free-labor  goods,  the  broad-brimmed 
drab  felt  hat  and  honest  home  made  foot-gear. 

If  Hannah  had  been  one  of  the  world's  people 
instead  of  a  self-controlled  Quakeress,  she  would 
have  confessed  to  being  worried  one  fall  morning, 
as  she  nervously  folded,  sealed  carefully  with  a 
red  wafer,  and  addressed  a  letter  at  her  kitchen 
table,  and  going  to  the  door,  looked  intently  up 
the  road.  She  was  aware  of  being  "  considerably 
concerned  "  when  the  stretch  of  black  thorough- 
fare, now  frozen  hard,  revealed  no  sign  of  life  nor 
of  motion,  between  its  borders  of  naked  trees  and 
dun  grass,  save  a  scurry  of  withered  leaves,  here 
and  there,  caught  by  a  swoop  of  the  November  wind 
and  tossed  by  it  like  a  flock  of  frightened  birds. 

At  the  bend  of  the  road  stood  the  old  Friends' 
meeting-house,  gray  and  lonely  beside  its  treeless 
yard  of  unmarked  graves.  The  shade  of  anxiety 
clouding  her  placid  face  changed  to  an  expression 
of  quiet  sadness  as  her  eyes  dwelt  on  the  deserted 
building,  and  she  wished  that  her  father  could  be 
with  her,  if  but  for  a  moment,  to  advise  her  in  her 
present  strait. 

"  I  say  for  it,  it  's  strange  what  keeps  Joseph 


296  THE  MOLE'S   PATH 

to-day  of  all  days,"  she  soliloquized,  as  was  her 
habit  like  that  of  many  who  are  much  alone  and 
crave  the  sound  of  a  human  voice.  "  Well,  watch- 
ing won't  bring  him  any  sooner." 

She  reentered  the  kitchen  and  made  pretense  of 
busying  herself  with  the  impossibility  of  making 
it  more  neat  and  orderly.  She  set  a  waiting  coffee 
pot  a  little  farther  back  on  the  stove,  mended  the 
fire,  and  swept  vigorously  where  the  litter  of  the 
wood  was  supposed  to  have  fallen.  While  she  was 
going  through  the  form  of  emptying  this  into  the 
stove,  the  clear,  melodious  winding  of  a  horn  caught 
her  ear  above  the  clatter  of  dustpan  and  griddle. 

Hastening  to  the  door,  she  saw  a  man  on  horse- 
back turning  the  bend  by  the  meeting-house  at  a 
gallop.  The  sound  of  the  postman's  horn  was 
pleasant  to  her  ears,  though  it  came  perilously  near 
being  a  tune.  She  watched  the  rider  until  he  was 
within  thirty  rods  of  her,  his  eyes  being  curiously 
intent  on  some  object  above  her.  Then,  going  to  the 
stove,  she  poured  a  steaming  cup  of  coffee  and  was 
at  the  threshold  with  it  when  he  drew  rein  before 
the  broad  stepping-stone. 

"Here  is  thy  coffee,"  she  said,  stepping  out; 
"  I  'm  afraid  it  ain't  so  good  as  common,  thee  is  so 
late.  What  made  thee?" 

Joe  Bagley  drew  the  latest  number  of  "  The 
Voice  of  Freedom  "  from  the  right-hand  saddle-bag 
and  reached  it  toward  her  to  exchange  for  his 


THE  MOLE'S   PATH  297 

accustomed  stirrup  cup,  answering,  explaining,  and 
asking,  continuously,  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  Oh,  to'able,  haow  be  you  ?  Had  tu  stop  an'  git 
a  shoe  sot.  Say,  Miss  Wray,  who  you  got  stayin' 
wi'  ye  ?  See  someb'dy  peekin'  aout  the  gen.it  win- 
der. Looked  kinder  dark-complected." 

Hannah  started  back,  the  hand  that  held  the 
proffered  cup  drew  it  toward  her  and  she  took  her 
other  hand  from  the  pocket  where  her  letter  was. 
Joe's  pale  gray  eyes  opened  wider  as  he  leaned 
over  to  his  utmost  balance  for  the  fragrant  cup, 
tantalizing  his  nostrils  and  palate.  Her  face  at 
once  regained  its  wonted  calmness,  and  her  voice 
was  steady  as  she  asked  :  — 

"  Is  n't  thee  mistaken,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  I  seen  'em  jest  as  plain  as  I  see  you,  Miss 
Wray,  someb'dy  peekin'  aout  the  gerrit  winder. 
Did  n't  you  know  there  was  someb'dy  ?  " 

"  Hitch  thy  horse  a  minute  an'  come  in  to  drink 
thy  coffee.  I  must  speak  to  thee  in  private."  For 
she  saw  her  nearest  neighbor,  quick-eared  Betsey 
Lane,  coming  out  of  her  house,  and  Betsey  "  hated 
niggers,  and  'ould  lick  ev'ry  one  on  'em  an'  send 
'em  straight  back  tu  where  they  come  f'om." 

"  He  don't  need  no  hitchin',  but  I  'm  kinder 
late  a' ready.  OF  hoss  is  gittin'  bunged  an'  slower  'n 
a  snail ; "  but  the  coffee  and  his  curiosity  were 
stronger  than  his  sense  of  duty,  and  throwing  his 
crippled  right  leg  over  the  saddle  pommel,  he  slid  to 


298  THE   MOLE'S  PATH 

the  ground  and  limped  inside  the  door,  which  was 
closed  carefully  behind  him.  Just  inside,  he  stopped, 
apparently  appalled  by  the  neatness  of  the  room. 

"  Sit  down  and  drink  thy  coffee,"  she  said,  set- 
ting a  chair  for  him. 

Without  removing  his  close-fitting  sealskin  cap, — 
the  coarse,  black,  shiny  hair  worn  to  the  skin  in 
spots,  —  or  even  untying  the  half  oval  lappets  tied 
under  the  chin  with  two  strings  of  black  tape, 
he  obeyed  her  and  began  sipping  the  coffee,  while 
his  eyes  slowly  ranged  the  spotless  purity  of  the 
room,  and  returned  to  its  no  less  immaculate  mis- 
tress. 

"  I  've  got  tu  hev  me  a  new  hoss,  the'  hain't  no 
tew  ways  'baout  it,"  he  explained,  perched  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair  with  his  feet  crooked  far  under 
him,  "  but  haow  I  'm  goin'  tu  's  more  'n  I  know. 
Airnin's  is  desp't  slow." 

"  Joseph  Bagley,"  she  said  in  her  quiet  voice, 
giving  no  heed  to  his  words,  but  seating  herself 
before  him  and  looking  straight  into  his  wavering, 
colorless  eyes  so  different  from  the  clear  blue  of 
her  own,  "  I  think  thee  has  a  kind  heart  and  that 
I  can  trust  thee  with  a  weighty  secret." 

"  Yis,  marm." 

"  What  thee  saw  at  the  window  is  a  poor  hunted 
runaway  woman.  She  and  her  child  have  been  here 
since  last  First  Day  night.  I  heard  yesterday  that 
the  slave  hunters  are  close  behind  on  her  track. 


THE   MOLE'S   PATH  299 

They  have  handbills  out  describing  her  and  her 
child,  and  they  offer  a  hundred  dollars  for  them." 

"  A  hunderd  dollars  ?  "  he  burst  out.  "  Gol,  I  '11 
bet  that 's  one  o'  them  papers  on  the  meetin'-'ouse 
door,  as  I  come  along." 

"  On  the  meeting-house  ?  Oh,"  —  Hannah's 
cheek  flushed,  "  but  never  mind  that,  now.  What  I 
want  of  thee  is  to  say  nothing  of  what  thee  has  seen 
to  any  one,  —  any  one,  mind." 

"  Yis,  marm,"  Joe  answered,  and  she  went  on  :  — 

"James  is  a  good  tenant  and  does  well  by  my 
farm, but  I  can't  trust  this  to  him,  and  I  don't  keep 
any  horse  that  I  can  drive.  Now,  I  want  thee  to  take 
this  letter  to  Aaron  Varney  just  as  quick  as  thee 
can  and  do  thy  business  as  thee  goes  along.  Of 
course,  thee  must  do  that,  but  don't  dally  on  the 
way  nor  stop  anywhere  to  talk  to  any  one,  —  as  thee 
has  with  me,"  she  added,  smiling  at  the  incongru- 
ity of  her  precept  and  example.  "  Now  thee  under- 
stands. Remember  I  depend  on  thee  to  help  me. 
It  would  be  dreadful  to  have  these  poor  creatures 
taken  back  to  slavery.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it." 

"  No,  inarm,  an'  you  'd  better  tell  the  fool  of  a 
nigger  to  keep  away  f'm  the  winder." 

"  Please  don't  call  these  unfortunate  colored  peo- 
ple by  that  name,  Joseph ;  it  hurts  me." 

"  Seems  's  'ough  that  was  the  name  on  'em,  — 
same  's  we  're  Yankees." 

"  Never   mind,   now.     Thee 's   not   to   mention 


300  THE   MOLE'S  PATH 

having  seen  any,  and  thee  '11  get  my  letter  to  Aaron 
as  soon  as  thee  can.  Now  thee  's  finished  thy 
coffee,  put  some  doughnuts  in  thy  pocket  and  go  on." 

Joe  pocketed  a  generous  supply  of  Hannah's 
delicately  browned  and  puffy  cakes,  and  with  the 
letter  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  he  limped  out 
to  his  horse. 

"  Farewell,  Joseph,  thee  understands  I  am  trust- 
ing thee  greatly  in  this  matter." 

Hannah  watched  through  a  crack  of  the  rush 
curtain  until  assured  of  the  carrier's  speedy  passage 
by  her  inquisitive  and  dangerous  neighbor.  Then 
she  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  chambers  and  thence 
to  the  low-roofed  attic  where  her  charge  was  be- 
stowed in  a  closet-like  room  behind  the  great  chim- 
ney. Sliding  aside  the  secret  panel,  she  stooped  low 
and  entered  the  chamber  of  refuge  where  during 
her  girlhood  many  a  fugitive  had  found  rest  from 
his  weary  journeying.  It  was  a  place  made  almost 
holy  to  her  in  its  defiance  of  unrighteous  laws. 

A  dark  negress  with  the  scared,  alert  look  of  a 
hunted  wild  animal,  sat  on  the  low  bed  where  a 
mulatto  child  lay  quietly  sleeping. 

"  Milly,  thee  poor  foolish  thing,"  Hannah  began 
in  a  tone  of  mild  reproach,  "  why  will  thee  go  to 
the  window  ?  The  post-rider  saw  thee  and  it  may 
bring  us  great  trouble.  Thee  must  be  more  careful. 
Thy  Heavenly  Father  will  help  thee  if  thee  trusts 
Him.  But  remember  thee  must  help  thyself  and 


THE  MOLE'S  PATH  301 

thee  must  not  be  seen  at  the  window.  I  '11  bring 
thy  dinner  presently  and  then  thee  try  to  sleep, 
for  it 's  likely  thee  '11  have  to  ride  a  long  way  to- 
night, and  thee  must  be  ready  to  start  at  a  moment's 
notice."  She  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  the  turbaned 
head  as  she  spoke.  The  woman  caught  it  in  her 
hard  palms,  crying  out :  — 

"  De  Lawd  '11  sholy  bless*  yo',  missus,  whateber 
happens  to  we  uns." 

Closing  the  panel  behind  her,  Hannah  went  down 
to  the  kitchen,  and  putting  on  her  hood  and  drab 
shawl,  she  locked  the  door  behind  her  and  set  forth 
for  the  performance  of  another  duty.  She  walked 
briskly  up  the  road,  stirring  the  leaves  to  further 
flights  before  the  north  wind.  In  stately  fashion  a 
procession  of  crows  was  faring  before  the  wind  on 
their  southward  journey,  and  a  grand  progress  of 
white  clouds  drifting  against  the  sunlit  sky. 

That  atrocious  advertisement,  displayed  on  the 
old  meeting-house,  sanctified  by  long-continued  tes- 
timony against  the  sin  of  slavery,  was  an  affront 
not  to  be  endured.  She  mounted  the  broad,  rough 
stone  and  stood  a  moment  to  read  :  — 

"  One  Hundred  Dollars'  Reward  for  the  Appre- 
hension of  my  slave  woman  Milly  and  her  girl. 
Said  woman  is  28,  tall,  very  dark,  with  scar  on  left 
cheek.  Girl  light,  5  years  old." 

If  they  had  put  it  on  the  door  of  a  steeple-house 
whose  hireling  priest  excused  the  crime,  it  would 


302  THE   MOLE'S   PATH 

have  been  fittingly  placed,  she  thought,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  with  an  anger  for  which  her  con- 
science condemned  her.  She  snatched  the  paper 
from  its  fastening,  tore  it  in  small  fragments  and 
threw  them  to  the  winds.  Then  turning  away  she 
retraced  her  steps  homeward. 

The  postman  did  not  need  to  blow  his  horn  for 
the  notification  of  Betsey  Lane,  for  she  was  already 
at  her  gate,  her  head  hooded  with  her  apron,  her 
inquisitive  eyes  boring  him  at  long  range,  her  lips 
tremulous  with  questions  as  he  slackened  his  pace 
and  drew  her  paper  from  his  pouch  as  he  ap- 
proached. 

"  Here  's  your  '  Kutlan'  Herald,'  Mis'  Lane." 

"  What  was  you  a-stoppin'  so  long  for  at  Han- 
ner's  ?  I  've  stood  here  a-waitin'  for  ye  till  I  'm 
'mos'  froze." 

"  Gittin'  a  maouse  aouten  a  trap,"  he  answered. 
"  Beats  all  haow  feared  women  folks  be  of  a  leetle 
maouse." 

"  Has  Hanner  got  comp'ny  ?  See  any  black  crit- 
ters hengin'  raoun'  there?  Thought  I  heerd  a 
young  un  yellin'  bloody  murder,  once  yist'd'y." 

"  Why,  yis,  I  did  see  a  black  cat  lyin'  'n  under 
the  stove." 

As  Joe  handed  her  the  paper  he  dug  his  heels 
into  his  horse's  flanks  and  made  an  unspellable 
sound  with  his  tongue  against  his  teeth. 

"It  took  ye   an  awful  spell  an'   me  aout  here 


THE  MOLE'S   PATH  303 

a-freezin'.  What  be  you  in  sech  a  pucker  for? 
Hain't  you  got  any  news  ?  " 

"  You  '11  find  it  in  the  paper.  That 's  what  they 
print  it  for,"  Joe  said,  speaking  over  his  shoulder 
with  increasing  volume  as  he  started  away,  leaving 
Mrs.  Lane  slowly  searching  for  the  marriages  and 
deaths  as  she  groped  her  way  to  her  door.  It  re- 
quired some  self-denial  for  Joe  to  shorten  an  inter- 
view with  one  of  his  most  loquacious  patrons,  for  he 
was  of  a  sociable  turn  and  enjoyed  the  brief  oppor- 
tunities for  gossip  that  were  snatched  here  and  there 
along  his  weekly  route.  As  he  jogged  along  from 
house  to  house  he  held  conversation  with  his  horse 
wherein  he  took  both  parts. 

"  A  hunderd  dollars  for  ketchin'  tew  niggers ! 
What  ye  think  o'  that,  Bob  ?  You  would  n't,  hey  ? 
Land  !  you  could  n't.  You  could  n't  ketch  a  rollin' 
berril  o'  potash.  I  tell  ye  what,  I  'm  a  dum  good 
min'  ter  tell  an'  git  the  Lunderd  dollars  an'  buy  me 
a  hoss  'at  c'ld  git  som'eres,  sometime,  an'  you  could 
hev  a  good  time  aout  to  parster.  What  if  I  have 
gin  my  word  ?  Ev'ybody  's  mean,  meaner  'n  pusley, 
an'  we  've  got  tu  be  mean  tu  keep  up  aour  row  an' 
.live.  If  you  run'd  away,  I  'd  want  ye  back  an'  a 
feller  'at  kep'  ye  'ould  be  a  dum  thief.  What  if  I 
would  n't  hommer  an'  hell  peck  ye  when  I  got  ye,  it 
would  n't  be  that  feller's  business.  You  think  folks 
hain't  no  right  tu  own  folks  ?  That  ain't  fer  me  tu 
settle,  an'  hosses  are  a  dum  sight  more  humern  tu 


304  THE   MOLE'S   PATH 

me  'an  what  niggers  be.   Oh,  Bob,  go  'long !   When 
you  s'pose  we  '11  git  tu  Uncle  Aaron's  ?  " 

The  two  passed  a  cross  road  that  led  far  back 
into  the  hill  country  beyond  whose  mantle  of  living 
green  the  helmet  of  Camel's  Hump  towered,  shin- 
ing like  frosted  silver  with  the  first  snow.  The  road 
ran  beside  a  stretch  of  gray  woodland  with  a  zigzag 
rail  fence  dividing  them.  Joe's  eye  caught  a  glimpse 
of  white  flashing  in  and  out,  from  corner  to  corner. 
It  was  a  weasel  unduly  conspicuous  in  his  too  early 
donned  winter  guise,  in  sharp  pursuit  of  a  field 
mouse.  The  hard-pressed  quarry  dodged  into  a 
knot-hole  in  a  hollow  rail.  The  weasel  ran  over  it, 
then  finding  itself  at  fault,  beat  back,  and  recover- 
ing the  lost  scent,  began  worming  itself  into  the 
loophole.  Joe  slid  off  his  horse,  and  picking  up  a 
stout  stick  as  he  ran  to  the  fence  in  his  peculiar  gal- 
loping gaifc,  struck  and  broke  the  back  of  the  savage 
little  hunter  when  the  lithe  body  had  wriggled  itself 
half  its  length  into  the  hole.  He  drew  it  forth  and 
dashed  the  grinning,  snarling  head  against  a  rail. 

"  'T  wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  dum  maouse,"  he  said 
as  he  undulated  toward  his  horse,  complacently  re- 
garding his  prize,  "  but  I  'd  ruther  be  for  the  maouse 
'an  agin  him  with  this  bloody  lettle  cuss,  would  n't 
you,  Bob  ?  I  guess  we  won't  help  'em  ketch  their 
niggers,  seein'  Banner's  dependin'  on  us." 

As  he  mounted,  he  saw  rapidly  approaching  from 
the  direction  in  which  he  was  going,  a  vehicle  called 


THE  MOLE'S   PATH  305 

by  courtesy  a  "  light  wagon  "  drawn  by  a  span  of 
swift-footed  Morgans.  There  were  three  occupants 
of  the  wagon,  —  one,  who  was  driving,  an  alert, 
keen-eyed  man,  the  well-known  deputy  sheriff.  The 
other  two  were  strangers,  and  there  was  a  sugges- 
tive empty  seat. 

"  Hello,  Joe,"  the  sheriff  called,  pulling  up  as 
they  met.  "  Seen  or  heard  anything  of  a  nigger 
woman  an'  a  young  un  as  you  come  along  ?  Think 
hard,  now,  there  's  a  hunderd  dollars'  reward.  That 
'ould  come  in  handy  toward  a-gettin'  on  ye  a  new 
hoss.  This  ol'  feller 's  on  his  last  laigs.  I  hear  'em 
talkin'  o'  gettin'  a  new  paper-carrier  wi'  a  new  hoss." 

u  A  nigger  woman  an'  a  baby  ?  Le'  me  see ;  "  and 
he  seemed  to  be  searching  his  memory,  but  in  fact 
he  was  wrestling  with  temptation.  "  Ben  a-stealin', 
hesshe?" 

"  Wai,  yes,  her  laigs  is  a-kerryin'  off  this  gentle- 
man's prop'ty.  Did  ye  stop  at  the  Quaker  ol' 
maid's  ?  Like  'nough,  she 's  a-hidin'  of  'em." 

"Lord,  no,  the'  hain't  nob'dy  there,"  Joe  an- 
swered promptly.  "  I  stopped  and  went  in  as  I 
come  along.  She  's  all  alone.  The  haouse  stiller  'n 
last  year's  bird's-nest.  Is  yer  nigger  womern  black 
as  Tony,  an'  the  young  un  yaller  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes.  Where  did  you  see  'em?"  The 
sheriff  asked  eagerly,  already  tightening  his  reins 
for  a  start. 

"  I  hain't  seen  'em  nowheres,  but  come  tu  think 


306  THE   MOLE'S   PATH 

on  't,  I  met  a  feller  back  at  the  cross  road,  come  Fin 
the  east,  he  did,  an'  he  ast  me  who  I  s'posed  they 
was  an'  where  I  s'posed  they  was  a-goin'.  Said  he 
met  'em  'baout  four  mild  back,  a-pikin'  their  poot- 
iest." 

Joe  became  so  interested  in  his  fiction  that  he 
slid  to  the  ground  and  stood  by  the  near  fore  wheel, 
picking  the  mud  from  the  hub  as  he  talked.  "  If  ye 
git  'em  on  this  track  will  you  give  me  suthin'  for 
puttin'  of  you  ontu  it?  " 

"  Suttinly,  suh,  suttinly,  I  '11  give  you  twenty-five 
dollars,"  said  one  of  the  strangers,  a  cool-looking 
man  who  somehow  reminded  Joe  of  his  weasel. 

"Wai,"  Joe  continued,  looking  straight  at  the 
three,  one  by  one,  after  noting  that  the  notch  of 
the  hub  was  on  the  upper  side  and  the  head  of  the 
linchpin  directly  under  it,  "  if  I  was  a-lookin'  arter 
'em,  I  should  put  right  for  Lindley  M.  Meader's. 
The  Quakers  is  mostly  in  the  same  kittle." 

"  That 's  so,"  the  sheriff  assented  heartily. 
"  We  Ve  just  come  f 'm  ol'  Aaron  Varney's.  We 
s'arched  from  suller  to  gerrit  but  didn't  find  no 
niggers,  only  a  good  place  for  'em." 

"  You  don't  say  !  Wai,  I  'd  go  tu  Lindley  M.'s  ; 
it 's  'baout  ten  mild,  I  cal'late."  Joe  slipped  some- 
thing into  the  pocket  with  Hannah's  doughnuts  and 
slowly  wiped  the  wheel  grease  from  his  fingers  on 
the  seat  of  his  trousers,  with  the  foot  of  his  game 
leg  still  on  the  hub. 


THE  MOLE'S   PATH  307 

The  sheriff,  impatient  to  be  on  the  new  trail, 
tightened  the  reins,  and  the  horses  started,  bringing 
Joe's  foot  to  the  ground  with  a  sudden  jerk  that 
almost  upset  him.  He  drew  Bob  from  the  withered 
roadside  grasses  he  was  cropping,  remounted  and 
went  his  way.  Presently  he  drew  forth  something 
from  his  pocket  which  he  tossed  far  afield  without 
even  looking  at  it.  Then  taking  one  of  the  dough- 
nuts he  began  eating  it,  passing  alternate  mouthf  uls 
to  Bob,  who  turned  his  head  aside  to  receive  them. 
Joe  listened  to  the  retreating  clatter  of  the  sheriff's 
wagon,  munching  slowly  for  better  listening,  until 
he  heard  a  sudden  crash,  followed  by  silence. 

"  I  hope  the'  hain't  none  of  'em  broke  the'  blasted 
necks,"  he  ejaculated,  and  blowing  a  loud  resound- 
ing blast  on  his  horn,  he  dug  his  heels  into  Bob's 
sides. 

Two  hours  later  he  rode  into  the  back  yard  of 
Aaron  Varney's  great  square  house,  setting  the 
mixed  multitude  of  poultry  into  a  commotion  and 
clamor  with  his  melodious  horn.  Thereat  the  owner 
came  forth,  a  stately  man  of  firm  countenance  who 
looked  sharply  at  the  post  rider  from  under  the 
wide  brim  of  his  hat. 

Joe  handed  him  the  letter,  which  he  read  at  once. 
"  Does  thee  know  what  this  is  about,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  Pooty  nigh,  I  guess,  an'  my  idee  is  you  'd  better 
be  a-hustlin'  as  soon  as  it  gits  dark.  Hed  visitors, 
hain't  ye,  Mr.  Varney  ?  " 


308  THE  MOLE'S  PATH 

"  What  makes  thee  think  so  ?  " 

Joe  went  on  to  tell  of  his  meeting  the  sheriff's 
party  and  how  he  had  sent  them  off  on  a  false  scent, 
ending  with,  "  I  should  n't  wonder  if  they  lost  a 
linchpin  er  suthin'.  I  heard  a  kind  of  a  smash  as 
they  went  down  the  hill." 

"  Why,  Joseph,"  said  Friend  Varney,  his  keen 
eyes  twinkling  although  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
were  drawn  down  to  a  serious  expression,  "  I 
had  n't  any  idee  thee  was  so  zealous  in  the  cause.  I 
hope  if  there  was  an  accident,  them  poor,  misguided 
men  were  not  injured." 

"  I  did  n't  go  back  tu  see.  Hed  n't  no  time  an' 
git  my  papers  delivered.  Here  's  yourn,  "  Vice  o' 
Freedom"  an'  "The  Frien'"  an'  "Kutlan'  Her- 
aid."  Like  tu  forgot  'em.  You  tell  Hanner  I  done 
her  arrent." 

"  Farewell,  Joseph,  thee  will  be  remembered  in 
the  latter  day  ;  "  but  the  post  rider  was  gone  beyond 
the  hearing  of  the  kindly  words. 

While  Joe  was  yet  pursuing  his  unfinished  route 
in  the  slanted  light  of  the  low  sun  and  beguiling  the 
time  with  bites  of  doughnut  uncertainly  caught  as 
he  rode  along,  Aaron  Varney,  in  his  empty  lumber 
wagon  drawn  by  a  pair  of  well  fed  horses,  was 
traveling  at  a  smart  pace  on  his  way  to  Hannah 
Wray's.  The  shadows  of  night  had  long  since  fallen 
upon  the  earth,  blotting  its  dun  and  gray  to  uni- 
versal blackness,  and  house  lights  were  going  out, 


THE  MOLE'S  PATH  309 

one  by  one  like  setting  stars,  when  he  reached  her 
home.  As  he  passed  a  curtained  window,  he  tapped 
lightly  on  it  with  the  hickory  handle  of  his  rarely 
used  whip.  The  curtain  was  drawn  a  little,  and  he 
whispered,  "  It  's  Aaron  come  for  the  goods.  Be 
spry  as  thee  can,  Hannah.  Is  all  well  so  far  ?  " 

He  drove  cautiously  into  the  barn,  and  for  a  time 
there  were  hushed  mysterious  movements,  until  the 
wagon  emerged  with  a  hogshead  standing  on  end, 
behind  the  seat. 

"  Farewell,  Aaron,  may  the  Heavenly  Father 
protect  thy  precious  lading,"  Hannah  said  rever- 
ently. He  heaved  a  suppressed,  assenting  groan  as 
he  climbed  into  his  seat  and  the  wagon  moved  with 
caution  down  the  road. 

A  mile  on  his  way,  Aaron  met  three  men  driving 
a  pair  of  jaded  horses.  They  eyed  him  sharply  in 
the  faint  light  that  shone  from  a  sky  beginning  to 
brighten  with  the  rising  moon,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  excite  suspicion  in  the  solitary  figure  and  the  in- 
nocent-looking hogshead.  He  drove  on  through  the 
growing  moonlight  and  its  sudden  changes  of  cloud 
shadow  and  unveiled  radiance,  alert,  silent,  and 
lonely,  though  with  companions  near.  When  the 
moon  was  growing  pale  against  the  sky  -and  the 
shadows  it  cast  were  fading  in  the  gray  of  morning 
he  entered  the  yard  of  a  tidy  farmhouse.  A  horse 
neighed  a  welcome  to  the  stable  as  the  wagon  en- 
tered the  gloom  of  the  neighboring  shed.  A  pebble 


310  THE  MOLE'S  PATH 

cast  against  an  upper  window  caused  its  cautious 
opening  and  the  appearance  of  a  shirted  figure. 

"Is  that  thee,  David?  This  is  Aaron  an'  I've 
brought  thee  a  hogshead  of  free  labor  goods." 

In  a  few  moments  a  small  man  of  silent,  quick 
movements,  emerged  from  the  house.  The  two  ex- 
changed whispered  greetings  and  Aaron  led  the  way 
to  the  wagon,  where  they  laid  hold  of  the  inverted 
hogshead  and  raising  it  bodily,  disclosed  the  slave 
woman  and  child.  David  conducted  the  cramped, 
tired  fugitives  inside  the  house,  followed  by  Aaron's 
portly  form,  where  they  were  welcomed  with  as  gen- 
tle cordiality  as  if  the  hostess  had  expected  their 
early  call. 

"  Wai,  Sary,  here  's  Aaron  agin,  with  some  more 
stolen  prop'ty.  Pooty  Quaker  you  are,  Aaron, 
stealin'  them  poor  Southerners'  goods."  His  twink- 
ling eyes  and  firm  set  mouth  expressed  a  love  of  fun 
and  adventure  perhaps  more  than  humanitarian 
sentiment.  "  I  'm  a  good  min'  to  report  you  to  the 
Monthly  Meetin',  Aaron.  Some  o'  the  ol'  blue 
bellies  'd  turn  ye'  out  o'  meetin'  if  they  got  wind  o' 
your  goin's  on.  Wai,  I  s'pose  I'll  hafter  help  ye 
smuggle  the  goods  into  Canerdy.  Feed  'em  an' 
stow  'em  away,  Sary,"  and  the  dusky  passengers 
again  passed  out  of  sight  in  another  station  of  the 
dark,  wide-reaching,  many-branched  road  that 
stretched  from  the  sunlit  Southern  fields  to  Canadian 
snows. 


THE  MOLE'S   PATH  311 

The  post  rider  jogged  leisurely  southward  on  his 
return  trip  with  no  object  but  to  get  home  and  be 
ready  for  the  next  journey  over  the  old  route.  Bob 
might  take  his  time  now  without  detriment  to  the 
newspaper  service,  so  Joe  tied  him  to  Hannah 
Wray's  hitching-post  and  went  in  to  learn  how  her 
affairs  had  prospered. 

After  their  interchange  of  information  she  said, 
"  And  now  I  think  thee  said  thee  wanted  a  new 
horse." 

"  Yis,  marm." 

"  Well,  I  've  been  thinking  about  that.  I  'm  told 
thee  's  a  careful  hand  with  horses  and  I  Ve  a  notion 
to  let  thee  take  my  three-year-old  bay  mare  and 
break  her  to  the  saddle.  Thee  can  turn  thy  horse 
out  in  my  rowan  to  be  used  a  little  perhaps  if  James 
needs  him.  How  will  that  suit  thee  ?  " 

"  That 's  tew  good,  marm,"  Joe  said,  his  pale  eyes 
actually  shining  with  surprise  and  delight.  "  But  I 
guess  I  c'n  manage  the  mare  if  you  want  me  tu  try 
it." 

The  colt,  being  intelligent  and  good  tempered, 
took  kindly  to  the  saddle  and  saddle-bags  and  to 
Joe  on  top  of  them.  He,  riding  away  the  happiest 
man  in  the  country,  was  soon  engaged  in  friendly 
converse  with  her  as  he  had  lately  been  with  her 
predecessor.  He  explained  to  her  all  strange  objects 
on  the  road  and  gradually  accustomed  her  to  the 
sound  of  the  horn  blown  just  above  her  sensitive 


312  THE  MOLE'S  PATH 

ears.  Thus  traveling  they  met  the  Sheriff  engaged 
in  better  business  than  when  last  met. 

"Hello,  Joe,"  he  hailed,  after  recognizing  the 
postman  on  the  new  horse. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Barnes.  You  got  that  twenty-five 
dollars  for  me?  "  Joe  asked,  playing  with  a  wisp  of 
the  mare's  mane. 

"  Twenty-five  your  grandmother! "  said  the  sheriff 
scornfully.  "  Drove  fifteen  mild,  lickaty  split  arter 
nothin'  an'  back  agin,  besides  a  wheel  comin'  off  an' 
pooty  nigh  breakin'  all  our  necks." 

"  You  don't  say.  That 's  all  killin'  bad.  I  was 
a-lottin'  on  that  twenty-five  dollars." 

"  Say,  where  did  you  get  your  hoss,  Joe  ?  "  criti- 
cally studying  the  new  mount. 

"  This  'ere  mare  ?  "  Joe  asked,  apparently  then 
first  aware  he  was  not  astride  old  Bob.  "  Oh,  she 
hain't  nothin'  but  a  green  cult  Mis'  Wray  wanted 
me  for  tu  take  an'  ride  a  spell  tu  saddle  break  an' 
git  waywise." 

"  O-oh  !  "  The  sheriff's  long  drawn  exclamation 
comprehended  many  expressions.  Running  his  eyes 
over  the  insignificant  figure  before  him,  his  newly 
awakened  admiration  took  form  in  words.  "You 
can't  allers  tell  by  the  looks  of  a  toad  how  fur 
he  '11  jump.  I  swear  you  be  an  innercent  lookin' 
cuss." 

Quite  different  were  Hannah  Wray's  thoughts  of 
the  post  rider,  as  she  sat  at  her  kitchen  window  and 


THE  MOLE'S  PATH.  313 

musingly  looked  out  on  the  peaceful  autumnal 
landscape:  "What  poor,  feeble  instruments  our 
Heavenly  Father  will  sometimes  strengthen  for 
His  use!" 


THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY 

ONE  September  morning,  sixty  years  ago,  the  three 
selectmen  of  Cornbury  were  holding  an  informal 
council  in  front  of  the  kitchen  door  of  Squire  Dana. 
He,  a  tall,  athletic  man,  with  a  strongly  moulded 
and  not  unkindly  face,  stood  on  the  ground,  resting 
one  foot  on  the  hub  of  a  vehicle  called  by  courtesy 
a  light  wagon,  in  which  sat,  elevated  high  above 
him,  the  second  and  third  members  of  the  triumvi- 
rate. One  of  them,  a  short,  important-looking  man, 
held  the  reins  of  a  fat  Morgan  mare  that  stood  quite 
undisturbed  by  his  meditative  flicking  of  the  grass 
with  the  woodchuck-skin  lash  of  the  hickory-handled 
whip.  The  other,  a  lean,  mild-faced  person,  picked 
nervously  at  the  hair  of  the  buffalo  skin  that  tem- 
porarily upholstered  the  wagon  seat,  while  he  list- 
ened to  the  conversation  of  his  associates. 

"  The  long  an'  short  on  't  is,"  said  he  who  held 
the  reins,  giving  a  sharp  cut  at  a  late-blooming  dan- 
delion, "  folks  is  a-gittin'  so  stirred  up  abaout  them 
a-livin'  tugether  the  way  they  du  'at  we  've  got  tu 
raout  'em  aout." 

"Wai,  I  s'pose  so,"  Squire  Dana  admitted  re- 
luctantly, taking  his  foot  from  the  hub  as  he  drew 
his  knife  from  his  pocket,  picked  up  a  chip  that 


THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY       315 

had  strayed  from  the  woodshed  into  the  neatness  of 
the  yard,  and  began  to  whittle  ;  "  but  I  swan  it  goes 
agin  my  grain  tu  tackle  a  woman." 

"  That 's  jest  it,"  said  Captain  Fay,  the  rotund 
second  selectman.  "  All  aour  women  folks  is  tur'bly 
riled  up  abaout  it,  an'  for  my  part,  I  'd  a  good  deal 
druther  hev  a  bresh  wi'  that  'ere  one  woman  an' 
done  with  it  'an  tu  hev  all  the  women  in  taown 
a-buzzin'  araound  aour  ears  the  hul  endurin'  time." 

"  Why  not  set  the  constable  arter  'em  ?  "  Deacon 
Palmer  suggested.  "  Seems  's  'ough  't  was  more  his 
business  'n  what  it  is  aourn." 

Squire  Dana  shook  his  head  in  slow  dissent. 
"No,  't  would  make  the  taown  expense.  I  guess 
we  '11  hafter  'tend  tu  it." 

Mrs.  Dana,  hovering  near  the  open  door,  con- 
ducted her  housework  in  such  unusual  silence  that 
her  alert  ears  caught  the  drift  of  the  conversation, 
to  which  she  felt  it  her  duty,  as  a  member  of  the 
Moral  Reform  Society  and  the  wife  of  the  first  se- 
lectman, to  add  her  voice  for  the  quick  removal  of 
a  blot  on  the  town's  good  name. 

"  Good-mornin\  Captain.  Good-mornin',  Dea- 
con," she  said,  stepping  out  on  to  the  stoop,  the 
welcome  smile  on  her  genial  face  hardening  to  fitting 
severity  as  she  asked,  "  Was  you  a-talkin'  abaout 
that  Lena  Tyler  an'  that  woman  ?  It 's  a  disgrace 
tu  the  hul  town  an'  every  respectable  woman  in  it 
tu  have  them  mis'able  creeturs  a-livin'  the  way  they 


316       THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

du.  It 's  a  burnin'  shame,  an'  I  say  if  the  selec'men 
hain't  got  enough  spunk  tu  take  a  holt  an'  turn  'em 
aou'  door,  the  women  '11  haftu." 

"  Sartainly,  we  're  a-cal'latin'  tu,  Mis'  Dany," 
Captain  Fay  answered,  with  prompt  decision  ;  "  but 
you  see  we  want  tu  ketch  'em  aou'  door  if  we  pos- 
sibly can,  an'  then  we  can  set  their  stuff  aou'  door 
an'  not  hev  no  rumpus." 

"  That 's  it  ezackly,"  her  husband  assented  em- 
phatically ;  and  Deacon  Palmer  added  acquiescence 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  an  unfamiliar  prairie 
bur  he  was  plucking  at  in  the  buffalo  hair. 

"  Wai,  if  that 's  what  you  want,  he  's  gone  away," 
declared  Mrs.  Dana.  "  He  went  off  up  the  road 
whilst  aour  folks  was  a-milkin',  an'  I  hain't  seen 
him  go  back.  If  you  three  men  can't  git  one  woman 
an'  one  young  one  aout  of  a  haouse,  the  taown  hed 
better  elect  a  new  board." 

"I  guess  they  won't  heftu,  Mis'  Dany,"  Captain 
Fay  said  confidently.  "  Say,  Square,  if  we  're  a-goin' 
tu-day  tu  lay  that  new  road,  why  can't  we  take  in 
this  'ere  job  as  we  go  along  ?  'T  won't  be  no  gret 
of  a  chore.  Come,  put  on  your  kut,  an'  git  right  in 
here." 

"  You  come  in  an'  let  me  put  a  clean  dicky  on, 
Mr.  Dany,"  said  his  wife,  and  she  bustled  indoors, 
presently  reappearing  with  the  supplementary  collar 
and  bosom,  with  which  she  proceeded  to  invest  her 
husband,  while  he  elevated  his  chin,  pursed  his 


THE   PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       317 

lips,  shut  his  eyes,  and  held  his  breath,  in  dread  of 
pins.  Then  she  brought  his  second-best  blue  coat 
and  his  black  fur  hat,  in  which  he  permitted  him- 
self to  be  arrayed  without  audible  protest. 

"  There  !  naow  you  look  more  like  payin'  your 
respec's  to  a  lady,"  she  said,  after  a  brief,  compre- 
hensive inspection  that  lingered  with  least  approval 
on  trousers  and  boots. 

He  climbed  to  the  seat,  and  the  three  drove  away, 
watched  by  Mrs.  Dana  till  they  were  hidden  by  the 
copse  of  crimson  sumac  at  the  road. 

"  Wai,  I  only  hope  their  spunk  '11  hold  aout," 
she  soliloquized  as  the  apex  of  the  pyramid  of 
three  bell-crowned  hats  disappeared,  and  she  re- 
entered  to  a  brisk  and  noisy  resumption-  of  her  in- 
terrupted labors.  "  I  wish  't  I  was  a  man  a  spell : 
I  'd  drive  'em  aout  o'  the  taown.  But  then,  I  s'pose 
if  I  was  a  man  I  should  be  jest  like  the  rest  on 
'em." 

Captain  Fay  drove  the  Morgan  mare  at  a  pace 
that  soon  brought  him  and  his  associates  to  a  house 
of  such  forlorn  exterior  and  surroundings  that  one 
would  have  thought  it  tin  tenanted,  if  the  smoke 
crawling  from  the  crumbling  chimney  and  the  heap 
of  freshly  gathered  wood  at  the  door  had  not  be- 
tokened occupancy.  Naked  scars  where  the  wind 
had  torn  shingles  from  the  sagging  mossy  roof; 
broken  windows  ;  lichen-scaled  clapboards  dropping 
away  from  their  places,  disclosing  raw  strips  of  un- 


318       THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY 

weathered  boarding  like  unhealed  wounds  ;  the  dy- 
ing lilac-tree,  hedged  around  by  its  own  sprouts, 
beside  the  unused  front  door  ;  the  lilies  and  peonies 
running  wild  with  a  vagabond  company  of  weeds ; 
the  untrodden,  weed-grown  path  to  the  ruinous 
barn  ;  the  curbless  well,  and  its  broken  sweep  lying 
beside  it,  with  the  leaky  bucket  still  attached  to  the 
pole  and  chain,  —  all  told  of  a  house  abandoned  by 
its  owners  and  given  over  to  careless  tenants. 

"  They  run  a  pretty  good  fire,"  said  the  Squire, 
observing  the  smoke. 

"Yes,  wood  a-plenty  for  the  picking  up,"  said 
Captain  Fay  ;  and  then,  casting  a  critical  eye  along 
a  rail  fence  which  had  sunken  somewhat  below  law- 
ful height,  "  Guess  Davis's  fences  hes  begun  tu 
winter-kill  a'ready." 

"  I  don't  see  what  in  tunket  Davis  ever  let  the 
critturs  in  here  fur !  "  Squire  Dana  said  impati- 
ently. "  Folks  ortu  be  more  pa'tic'lar.  My  tenant 
haousen  has  ben  empty  more  'n  three  months  'cause 
I  can't  find  the  right  sort  of  a  family  tu  let  int'  it." 

"  Wai,  mebby  Davis  '11  git  a  day's  work  naow 
an'  agin,  an'  that 's  better  'n  nothin',"  said  Palmer. 
"  Shh !  there  's  the  woman  naow.  Say,  she  hain't 
bad-lookin'." 

A  dark-haired,  dark-eyed  woman,  comely  in 
spite  of  a  look  too  worn  for  her  years,  which  were 
not  more  than  twenty-five,  and  neatly  though  poorly 
clad,  came  out  at  the  side  door  with  a  pail  in  her 


THE   PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       319 

hand.  She  halted  a  moment  to  cast  a  startled  glance 
upon  the  visitors  alighting  at  the  broken  gate,  and 
then  hurried  to  the  well  and  hastily  lowered  the 
bucket  by  its  clumsy  attachment. 

Squire  Dana's  first  impulse  was  to  help  her ;  but 
while  he  hesitated  she  drew  up  the  dribbling  bucket 
with  swift,  strong  hands,  and  emptying  what  re- 
mained of  its  wasted  contents  into  the  pail,  sped 
back  to  the  house  without  bestowing  another  look 
on  the  strangers  at  the  gate,  though  their  chief 
called  out :  — 

"  Hoi'  on  a  minute,  won't  ye,  marm  ?  There, 
Fay,  if  you  had  n't  'a'  ben  forever  a-hitchin'  your 
hoss,  we  might  'a'  run  in  ahead  on  her." 

"Wai,  what  hendered  you  an'  Palmer?"  the 
Captain  asked,  chuckling  as  he  joined  his  com- 
panions. "  I  could  tend  the  mare." 

"  Say,"  said  Palmer,  edging  toward  the  wagon, 
"  le'  's  go  an'  lay  that  road,  an'  leave  this  'ere  job 
for  the  constable.  It  hain't  aourn." 

"  What !  flunk  aout  naow  an'  hev  aour  women 
folks  givin'  us  Hail  Columby  ?  "  asked  the  Squire. 
"  No,  siree,  I  've  ben  hetcheled  all  I  want  tu  be. 
Come  on." 

With  that  he  led  the  way  up  the  path,  but  with 
as  little  stomach  as  the  others  for  the  unpleasant 
duty.  He  knocked  at  the  door  where  the  woman 
had  gone  in  ;  but  there  was  no  response,  though  he 
could  hear  her  stepping  lightly  across  the  floor. 


320       THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

He  tried  the  latch  and  found  it  fastened;  then 
knocked  more  loudly.  A  window  over  the  door  was 
opened,  and  the  woman's  voice  descended :  — 

"What  d'  you  want?" 

There  was  a  little  penthouse  roof  jutting  out 
over  the  door,  and  the  Squire  backed  from  beneath 
it  that  he  might  see  the  speaker.  Her  face  was 
flushed  and  defiant,  and  beside  her,  peering  over 
the  window  ledge,  was  the  curious,  scared  face  of 
a  fair-haired  little  girl. 

"  We  want  tu  come  in,"  he  said,  answering  her 
question  as  he  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Wai,  you  can't,  'cause  Mr.  Tyler  's  gone  away, 
an'  he  tol'  me  not  tu  let  nob'dy  in  till  he  come 
back." 

"  Oh,  come  naow,  what 's  the  use  ?  We  're  the 
selec'men,  ye  know.  You  'd  better  let  us  in." 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  you  're  the  hul  taown.  I  can't 
let  you  in,  I  can't !  " 

"  Wai,  then  we  '11  hafter  bust  in  the  door,  for 
we  're  a-comin'  in,  one  way  or  'nother,"  said  the 
Squire,  taking  a  more  decided  tone.  "  Fay,  you 
an'  Palmer  fetch  a  rail  off 'en  the  fence."  He 
turned  away,  and  stood  with  his  arms  akimbo 
watching  the  somewhat  slow  execution  of  the  order 
by  his  companions. 

The  two  figures  disappeared  from  the  window ; 
there  was  a  clatter  of  stove  furniture,  a  sound  of 
pouring  water,  and  the  woman  reappeared  at  her 


THE   PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       321 

coign  of  vantage  as  the  storming  party  advanced, 
carrying  a  stout  rail  as  a  battering  ram. 

"I  give  you  good  warning"  she  said,  with  her 
voice  higher  pitched  than  before.  "  If  you  come 
anigh,  you  '11  git  scalt." 

There  was  a  reek  of  steam  about  her,  and  as  she 
spoke  she  lifted  a  large  dipper  of  hot  water  from  a 
pail  and  rested  it  on  the  window  sill. 

"  Sho,  she  won't  dast  tu !  "  said  the  Squire  con- 
temptuously as  his  comrades  hesitated.  "  Come  on. 
Let  drive  nighest  tu  the  latch  an'  bust  it." 

They  advanced  more  briskly,  and  she,  drawing 
back  the  dipper,  called  out,  "  Ta'  care,  or  you  '11 
ketch  it !  "  and  then  flung  out  the  contents  at  them. 

The  shot  fell  short  of  the  bearers  of  the  battering 
ram,  and  the  Squire  dodged  under  shelter  of  the 
narrow  pent  roof  and  flattened  himself  against 
the  door,  while  the  charge  overshot  him  and  drib- 
bled from  the  eaves. 

"  Gosh,  hain't  she  a  spunky  one !  "  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  burst  of  admiration  that  exceeded  his  vexation. 
"  Come  on,  naow.  Quick  afore  she  gits  loaded  up 
agin." 

But  before  the  order  could  be  executed  another 
volley  descended  upon  the  assaulting  party,  who 
dropped  the  rail  and  retired  precipitately  ;  Captain 
Fay  nursing  a  scalded  finger,  and  Deacon  Palmer, 
whose  hat  had  fallen  off  within  range  of  the  bat- 
tery, striving  to  express  his  feelings  within  the 


322       THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

limits  of  such  mild  profanity  as  a  church  member 
might  be  allowed. 

"  Wai,  you  be  smart  fellers,"  the  Squire  com- 
mented. "  Naow,  if  I  'd  hed  a  holt  o'  that  'ere 
rail"- 

"  You  can  hev  a  holt  o'  my  sheer  on 't  an'  wel- 
come," the  Captain  generously  offered,  as  he  alter- 
nately inspected  and  blew  his  injured  finger. 

"  Mine  tew,  gol  darn  it !  "  the  Deacon  declared, 
venturing  near  the  danger  line  with  a  pole,  and 
attempting  to  insert  the  end  of  it  in  the  crown  of 
his  hat.  Before  he  could  effect  a  rescue  down  came 
a  scalding  shower,  deluging  the  upturned  beaver 
and  barely  missing  its  owner. 

The  Squire  made  a  determined  attack  upon  the 
door,  kicking  lustily  at  the  panels  and  throwing  his 
shoulder  with  all  his  might  against  it ;  but  it  would 
not  yield,  and  he  desisted  when  a  dash  of  hot  water 
caught  his  foot  thrust  beyond  the  shelter  of  the 
door's  hood.  Direct  attack  did  not  seem  to  promise 
success,  so  he  sallied  out  to  his  comrades  beyond 
the  fire  of  the  garrison,  and  began  plotting  stra- 
tegy. 

"  We  wanter  kinder  squirmish*  'raound  till  she 
gits  her  ammernition  used  up,"  said  he;  "when 
that 's  gone,  I  '11  resk  her  claws." 

"I  do'  know  'baout  that,  the  darn'  she-cat!" 
Deacon  Palmer  remarked  dubiously ;  but  he  had 
no  thought  of  raising  the  siege  now,  for  his  fighting 


THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY      323 

blood  was  up.  "  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  make  another  try 
for  that  'ere  hat." 

44  Yes,  du,  an'  me  an'  Captain  '11  make  b'lieve  go 
at  the  door  agin." 

The  Deacon  clawed  at  the  hat  with  the  pole  at 
arm's  length,  the  others  made  a  show  of  attack 
with  the  rail,  and  all  drew  frequent  fire  from  the 
enemy,  ineffectual  but  for  a  further  drenching  of 
the  hat,  which  the  owner  at  last  secured  and  hung 
on  a  stake  to  dry, 

44  My  sakes !  "  he  groaned,  as  he  contemplated  its 
limp  and  bedraggled  condition.  44 1  do'  know  what 
in  time  Mis'  Palmer  '11  say  when  she  sees  that  'ere 
hat.  I  've  kep'  it  as  good  as  new  for  fifteen  year, 
an'  naow  jest  look  at  it !  Looks  as  if  I  'd  took  a 
head  dive  int'  the  river  an'  forgot  tu  take  it  off." 

44  If  I  was  you,  I  'd  ruther  hev  her  see  it  'an  tu 
hev  her  hear  what  you  said.  Pretty  nigh  cussin' 
for  a  deacon." 

44  That  I  can  keep  tu  myself.    The  hat  I  can't." 

44  Wai,  you  want  tu  keep  that  'ere  tu  show  your 
gran'childern  when  you  tell  'em  abaout  the  capture 
o'  Fort  Davis,"  said  the  Captain. 

44  It  hain't  captured  yet." 

44  Wai,  it 's  a-goin'  tu  be,"  said  the  Squire  confi- 
dently. 44 1  can  hear  her  scrapin'  the  dipper  in  the 
bottom  of  the  kittle,  an'  her  ammernition  's  'baout 
spent.  Le'  's  draw  her  fire  agin." 

The  feint  excited  a  feeble  volley  ;  another  brought 


324       THE  PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

no  response,  and  it  became  evident  that  the  ama- 
zon's  am  munition  was  exhausted.  The  besiegers 
now  advanced  boldly  to  the  assault.  The  door 
yielded  to  the  first  vigorous  stroke  of  the  battering 
ram,  and  victory  at  last  perched  on  the  banner  of 
the  selectmen. 

"  Wai,  marm,"  said  the  Squire,  in  his  severest 
official  voice,  addressing  the  woman  who  stood  sul- 
lenly defiant  at  the  farther  side  of  the  scantily  fur- 
nished kitchen,  with  one  hand  on  the  head  of  the 
frightened  child,  "  you  ortu  be  'shamed  o'  yourself 
a-scaldin'  taown  officers." 

"  'Shamed  !  "  she  flared  up  indignantly.  "  I  sh'd 
think  you  was  the  ones  tu  be  'shamed  !  Three  men 
a-tacklin'  a  woman  an'  a  little  girl  an'  bustin'  in 
doors  !  Scald  you  !  I  wish  I  c'd  bile  you  !  " 

"  No  daoubt  on  't,  marm,  but  we  won't  waste  no 
time  a-passin'  compliments,"  and  the  Squire  turned 
away.  "  Come,  men,  le'  's  git  these  'ere  things 
aout." 

The  victors  hurried  as  if  in  fear  of  relenting 
before  the  disagreeable  duty  was  accomplished,  and 
soon  set  the  poor  and  meagre  furniture  out  of  doors, 
yet  with  a  degree  of  care  they  felt  was  due  to  its 
valiant  defender,  who  now,  without  further  attempt 
at  useless  resistance,  went  out,  leading  the  child  by 
the  hand.  Then  they  fastened  the  door,  and  clam- 
bered out  through  a  window  and  went  their  way, 
leaving  the  woman  and  child  standing  in  silent, 


THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       325 

dazed  despair  among  their  unshrined  household 
gods. 

"  Gosh !  I  do'  know  but  I  sh'd  feel  as  mean  'f 
I  'd  ben  stealin'  sheep  an'  got  ketched  at  it."  The 
Squire  broke  the  silence  in  which  the  selectmen 
held  self-communion  as  they  drove  along  the  high- 
way. His  associates  grunted  a  sympathetic  re- 
sponse, and  the  Deacon  ran  his  hand  tenderly  over 
the  blistered  hat  crown. 

"  I  do'  know  what  the  critturs  live  on,"  the  Cap- 
tain remarked.  "  All  the  victuals  I  see  was  a  bag 
o'  'taters  I  fetched  aout,  an'  the'  wa'n't  more  'n  a 
ha'  bushel  o'  them." 

As  the  Squire's  wife  set  her  kitchen  in  order  and 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  its  neatness  (for  she 
was  just  then,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  aout  of  a  girl, 
an'  duin'  my  own  work  "  ),  she  often  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  down  the  road,  wondering  what 
progress  the  town  fathers  were  making,  and  with 
what  thoroughness  they  would  perform  their  duty. 
No  hopeful  sign  was  given  her  out  of  the  haze  of 
smoke  with  which  a  shift  of  wind  to  the  northward 
was  thickening  the  atmosphere,  from  some  distant 
forest  fire,  and  chilling  it  with  what  seemed  an  un- 
natural breath,  since  it  choked  one  with  the  odor 
of  burnt  leaves,  and  even  bore  their  charred  and 
ashy  shapes,  wavering  as  silently  as  ghosts  of  dead 
leaves,  in  long  slants  to  the  ground.  The  sumac 


326       THE   PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY 

copse  shone  like  a  red  flame  in  the  blue  mist  that 
blurred  near  objects,  and  blotted  out  all  beyond  the 
middle  distance. 

"  I  p'sume  tu  say  they  won't  du  nothing"  she 
said  to  herself.  "Square  Dany 's  tew  soft-hearted, 
an'  the  others  is  afeard  o'  maddin'  someb'dy  nuther 
tu  vote  agin  'em.  My !  I  wish  't  women  voted ; 
we  'd  show  'em  which  side  their  bread  was  buttered 
on.  Wai,  I  '11  see  if  I  can  spin  part  of  a  knot  'fore 
it 's  time  tu  git  dinner  a-goin'." 

She  drew  the  big  wheel,  with  its  white  saddle  of 
rolls,  from  the  corner,  and  set  it  to  humming  its 
musical  song  while  she  stepped  back  and  forth 
beside  it ;  now  twirling  the  wheel  swiftly  in  one 
way,  now  slowly  the  other.  After  a  time  the  mer- 
rier sound  of  the  kettle  and  the  clatter  of  dinner- 
getting  succeeded  the  noise  of  the  wheel ;  then  the 
dinner  horn  sounded  a  note  pleasant  to  the  ear  of 
the  hired  man  wrestling  with  the  plumed  ranks 
of  ripe  corn,  when,  sticking  his  sickle  into  the  last- 
vanquished  shock,  he  declared  an  hour's  truce. 
When  he  had  resumed  hostilities,  and  Mrs.  Dana, 
leaving  the  table  uncleared,  was  assisting  digestion 
by  a  perusal  of  the  Advocate  of  Moral  Reform,  she 
was  disturbed  by  a  timid  knock  at  the  door. 

Opening  it,  she  was  confronted  by  the  unfamil- 
iar faces  of  a  young  woman  and  a  little  girl.  Both 
bore  traces  of  recent  tears,  and  the  child's  breath 
was  still  broken  by  an  irrepressible  sob. 


THE  PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY       327 

"  I  would  n't  'a'  bothered  you,  ma'am,  but  'Mandy 
was  cryin'  for  somethin'  tu  eat,  an'  there  wa'n't 
nothin'  tu  give  her."  The  young  woman  spoke  in 
a  soft  voice,  and  her  dark  eyes  had  a  pleading  ex- 
pression that  a  harder  heart  than  Mrs.  Dana's 
could  not  have  resisted. 

"  Hungry,  is  she  ?  Why,  good  land,  come  right 
in.  I  guess  you  be,  tew,  if  you  hed  n't  nothin'  for 
her.  Set  up  to  the  stove.  It 's  turned  raound  real 
cold,  an'  the  fire  feels  good."  She  put  chairs  for 
her  guests,  and  gave  the  fire  a  hospitable  punch, 
and  set  herself  to  rearranging  the  table  ;  piling 
dirty  plates,  cups,  and  saucers,  clawing  the  rumpled 
cloth  into  place,  brushing  the  crumbs  with  one 
hand  into  the  other,  and  bustling  to  the  pantry 
for  a  fresh  supply  of  bread  and  the  indispensable 
pie. 

"  I  don't  want  you  tu  take  no  trouble,"  the  wo- 
man protested,  looking  apprehensively  at  the  pre- 
parations. "I  —  I  hain't  no  money  tu  pay  you,  but 
I  can  spin  a  spell  for  you,"  her  eyes  dwelling  on 
the  wheel. 

"  Good  land,  I  don't  want  no  pay,  an'  I  hain't 
goin'  tu  take  no  trouble,"  Mrs.  Dana  declared. 
"  Trav'lin'  fur  ?  Goin'  tu  see  some  o'  your  folks,  I 
p'sume  tu  say  ?  The  little  girl  hain't  yourn  ?  Some 
related,  mebby,  but  she  don't  favor  you  a  mite. 
<  Mebby  you  hain't  merried  ?  " 

It  was  not  Mrs.  Dana's  habit  to  wait  for  answers 


328       THE  PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

to  her  questions,  but  she  did  now,  while  the  visitor, 
with  downcast  eyes,  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  'd  ha'  come  an  hour  sooner,  you  might 
ha'  eat  a  hot  dinner  with  us,"  the  hostess  went  on. 
"  But  there  's  enough  left,  such  as  it  is,  thank  good- 
ness. There  wa'n't  nob'dy  but  me  an'  the  hired 
man  tu  dinner.  My  husband,  he 's  gone  off  on 
taown  business  tu-day.  He 's  fust  selec'man,  an' 
they  've  gone  off  'mongst  'em  a-transactin'  business. 
Naow,  then,  you  an'  she  take  right  off  your  bunnets 
an'  shawls,  an'  set  up  tu  the  table." 

The  visitor  arose  hastily,  and  gasped  in  a  scared 
voice  :  "  No,  no !  Give  'Mandy  a  piece  o'  bread  an' 
butter  in  her  hand,  an'  we  '11  go.  We  can't  stop ! 
Oh  no,  we  can't  stop ! " 

"  Be  you  crazy  ?  I  sh'd  like  to  know  what 's  the 
reason  you  can't  stop  an'  eat?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  the  woman  protested.  "  We  must 
go  right  off." 

"  Wai,  then,  you  hain't  a-goin',  an'  that  child 
hain't  a-goin'  afore  she 's  eat  a  meal  o'  victuals ! 
Naow  tell  me  your  trouble,"  Mrs.  Dana  said,  in  a 
tone  so  masterful  that,  aided  by  the  entreating, 
hungry  eyes  of  the  little  girl,  it  compelled  compli- 
ance. 

"  If  you  've  got  tu  know,"  the  stranger  answered 
half  defiantly,  "  your  man  an'  the  other  selectmen 
come  over  there,"  indicating  the  direction  with  a 
sidewise  motion  of  the  head ;  "an'  Mr.  Tyler,  he 


THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       329 

was  gone,  an'  they  was  comin'  in,  an'  I  hove  hot 
water  ontu  'em  !  Yes,  I  did.  But  they  broke  in  the 
door,  an'  they  sot  all  the  things  aout  door  an'  fast- 
ened us  aout ;  an',  oh  dear,  I  do'  know  what 's  goin' 
tu  be  become  of  us !  I  wish  't  I  was  dead  !  "  With 
that  she  broke  down  utterly,  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"  Wai,  I  never !  "  Mrs.  Dana  gasped,  her  breath 
so  completely  taken  away  by  the  relation  that  she 
was  obliged  to  sit  down  to  await  its  return,  bury- 
ing beneath  her  ample  form  the  crumpled  pages  of 
the  "  Advocate  "  where  it  lay  on  the  cushion  into 
which  she  sank.  The  blankness  of  her  face  gradu- 
ally hardened  into  an  expression  of  proper  severity; 
her  gaping  mouth  closed  tightly,  then  opened  again 
as  speech  came  with  renewed  breath.  "  So  you  're 
that  woman,  be  you  ?  You  don't  look  like  her.  I 
would  n't  ha'  thought  it  of  you.  Haow  ever  come 
you  tu  du  so  ?  " 

No  answer  came  but  sobs  from  the  hidden  face. 
Impelled  by  an  impulse  of  motherly  pity,  Mrs. 
Dana  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  bowed  head,  and 
said  as  gently,  "  Don't  you  believe  you  'd  better 
tell  me  all  abaout  your  trouble  ?  " 

Then  the  woman  began  in  a  broken  voice  that 
grew  steadier  as  she  went  on :  "I  was  took  sick  at 
the  place  where  I  was  a-workin',  an'  they  was 
a-goin'  to  throw  me  on  t'  the  taown,  but  Mr.  an' 


330       THE  PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY 

Mis'  Tyler  took  me  in  an'  kep'  me  till  I  got  well ; 
an'  then  Mis'  Tyler,  she  took  sick,  an'  there  wa'n't 
nob'dy  tu  ta'  care  of  her  only  me,  an'  so  I  did  till  she 
died ;  an'  then  there  wa'n't  nob'dy  tu  keep  haouse 
for  him,  an'  so  I  stayed  an'  kep'  a-stayin',  like  a 
fool,  but  I  could  n't  seem  tu  help  it,  they  'd  ben  so 
good  tu  me.  An'  everybody  turned  agin  us,  an'  he 
could  n't  git  no  work,  an'  so  we  come  away  from 
there  an'  got  in  here,  but  it 's  jes'  as  bad ;  an'  this 
mornin'  he  started  off  for  Brinkford  lookin'  for 
work,  an'  them  men  come  an'  turned  us  aout,  an' 
now  I  do'  know  what  we  be  goin'  tu  du  !  Oh  dear, 
I  wish  't  I  was  dead  !  " 

Her  sobs  broke  out  afresh,  and  Mrs.  Dana 
waited  a  little  before  she  asked,  "  Why  wa'n't  you 
merried  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  tu,  but  I  would  n't  so  soon  after 
she  died,  an'  so  we  kep'  livin'  along ;  an'  he  said  't 
wa'n't  nob'dy's  business  's  long  's  we  sot  so  by  one 
'nother  as  we  did." 

The  moral  reformer  of  Cornbury,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting neglected  hospitality,  said  in  a  gentler  voice  : 
"It  don't  signify,  a-lettin'  folks  starve  afore  my 
face  an'  eyes !  Now  set  up  tu  the  table.  Yes,  you 
've  got  tu,  an'  the  little  girl  '11  set  right  by,  an'  help 
her  an'  yourself  ;  "  and  having  seated  her  guests  at 
the  table,  she  busied  herself  in  ministering  to  them 
while  she  silently  pondered  and  cast  frequent 
searching  glances  up  the  road. 


THE   PURIFICATION  OF  CORNBURY       331 

44  When  was  you  expectin'  'Mandy's  pa  'd  be 
comin'  back  ?  " 

"  Any  time  'most." 

"  Well,  I  want  tu  ketch  him  when  he  comes 
along.  An'  naow,  if  you  won't  eat  nothin'  more, 
you  may  spin  a  little  while  if  you  are  a  mind  tu. 
You  was  sayin'  you  could,  wa'n't  you?  What  did 
you  say  your  name  was  ?  " 

"  Roxy,"  the  woman  answered,  taking  her  place 
at  the  wheel  with  the  alacrity  of  accustomed 
use. 

Mrs.  Dana  watched  her,  at  first  doubtfully, 
then  with  growing  admiration  of  her  agile  and 
skillful  movements;  and  when  she  had  examined 
the  yarn  with  critical  eye  and  touches,  she  de- 
clared :  "  I  never  see  nob'dy  that  could  spin  sprier 
an'  better.  I  could  n't  myself.  There,  naow,  you 
sit  daown  an'  rest.  You  need  n't  spin  no  more. 
Sis,  is  n't  that  your  pa  ?  " 

She  hastened  out  to  intercept  a  man  whose  form 
seemed  to  acquire  substance  as  he  drew  near,  as  if 
materializing  out  of  the  blue  haze.  He  yielded  to 
her  entreaty,  which  was  as  much  a  command.  His 
heavy,  good-humored  face  was  blank.  While  he 
was  wiping  his  dusty  boots  on  the  dooryard  knot- 
grass, she  was  further  gratified  by  the  arrival  of 
the  selectmen. 

"  Hitch  your  hoss,  and  come  right  in,  Captain, 
you  an'  the  Deacon.  Oh  yes,  you  got  tu.  I  want 


332        THE   PURIFICATION   OF   CORNBURY 

you  tu,"  she  urged  against  all  excuses,  and  getting 
in  the  rear  of  her  guests  left  no  way  open  to  them 
but  the  one  she  desired  them  to  take.  Her  hus- 
band walked  behind  her,  dumbly  wondering  at  her, 
and  went  to  the  depths  of  speechless  astonishment 
with  his  colleagues  when  he  found  their  late  an- 
tagonist installed  in  his  own  kitchen. 

"  Square  Dany,"  his  wife  began,  without  any  de- 
tail of  explanation,  "  these  folks  wants  tu  git  mer- 
ried  right  off,  an'  I  want  you  tu  merry  'em.  Stan' 
right  up  here,  naow,  Lem'wil,  an'  you,  Roxy,  take 
a  holt  o'  his  han'.  There,  naow,  Square,  perform 
the  ceremony." 

The  matrimonial  candidates  obediently  did  as 
told,  but  the  Squire  protested  : 

"  Why,  Mis'  Dany,  I  never  merried  a  couple  in 
my  life." 

"  Wai,  if  you  've  ben  Justice  o'  the  Peace  tew 
hul  year,  goin*  on  three,  an'  do'  know  haow  tu 
merry  folks,  the  taown  'd  better  'lect  someb'dy  else 
in  your  place,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  put  him 
upon  his  mettle ;  and  since  the  eyes  of  his  fellow 
fathers  were  upon  him,  he  manfully  essayed  the 
performance  of  the  unaccustomed  duty. 

"  Du  you,  j'intly  an'  severally,  solemnly  promise, 
in  the  presence  o'  these  witnesses,  tu  take  one 
'nother  for  husban'  an'  wife,  for  better  or  wus,  be 
the  same  more  or  less,  an'  promise  well  an'  truly 
tu  perform  the  same  without  fear  or  favor  of  any 


THE  PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY       333 

man  —  or  woman  ?  "  he  added,  with  a  happy  after- 
thought. 

Lemuel  Tyler  responded  with  a  hearty  affirma- 
tive, and  Roxy  bashfully  nodded,  as  the  mistress  of 
ceremonies,  with  a  ready  hand,  would  perforce 
have  obliged  her  to,  had  she  hesitated.  Then  the 
Squire  declared,  in  his  best  official  voice  :  "  By  the 
authority  in  me  vested  by  the  State  of  Vermont,  I 
du  pronounce  you  man  an'  wife,  tu  hev  an'  tu  hoi' 
till  death  du  you  part.  Asy  Dany,  Justice  of  the 
Peace.  -  There,  I  guess  that  '11  hold,  won't  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  his  associates  as  he  wiped  his 
perspiring  face. 

"  I  don't  see  no  flaw  in  the  indictment,"  Capr 
tain  Fay  admitted ;  "  but  hain't  you  goin'  tu  make 
no  remarks  ?  It 's  usuil  on  sech  occasions." 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  s'pose  it  is."  The  Squire  pondered 
as  he  cleared  his  throat  for  further  speech.  "  I  will 
say  tu  you,  Mr.  Tyler,  that  ef  you  want  tu  keep 
peace  in  the  fam'ly  you  'd  better  du  putty  nigh  as 
Mis'  Tyler  wants  you  tu ;  an'  tu  you,  Mis'  Tyler, 
not  tu  want  onreasonable  ;  an'  tu  both  on  ye,  if 
one  gits  sassy,  for  t'  other  not  to  sass  back,  —  in 
the  words  of  the  poet,  — 

'  Ef  one  throws  fire  an'  the  other  water, 
Peace  will  reign  in  every  quarter.'  " 

"S'posin'  it's  hot  water? "the  Captain  asked, 
as  he  tended  his  forefinger. 


334       THE   PURIFICATION   OF  CORNBURY 

"I  do'  know  's  I  've  got  anything  more  tu  re- 
mark," said  the  Squire. 

"Naow  set  daown,  all  on  ye,"  his  wife  com- 
manded, as  she  bustled  into  the  pantry,  where  her 
voice,  pitched  in  a  high  key,  could  still  be  heard  : 
''The'  wa'n't  no  time  for  preperation,  so  the' 
hain't  no  weddin'  cake  ;  but  the'  's  nut  cakes  an' 
cheese  a-plenty,  an'  punkin  pie,  which  is  good  if  I 
did  make  it."  These  she  presently  brought  and 
pressed  upon  the  company. 

Captain  Fay  picked  up  the  crumpled  "  Advo- 
cate "  from  the  chair  in  which  he  was  about  to 
seat  himself,  and  studying  the  title  a  moment  re- 
marked, "Mis'  Dany,  your  Moral  Reform  paper 
looks  as  if  it  hed  ben  sot  daown  on." 

Without  heeding  him  she  went  on :  "  Naow,  ef 
you  hain't  no  objections,  Square  Dany,  I  '11  blow 
the  horn  for  Hiram,  an'  he  an'  Lem'wil  can  hitch 
ontu  the  hay  riggin',  an'  go  an'  git  the  things  an' 
put  'em  in  your  tenant  haouse.  You  ben  wantin'  a 
good  stubbed  man  in  't,  which  Lem'wil  looks  tu  be, 
an'  Roxy  is  the  beater  tu  spin,  as  I  know." 

As  Squire  Dana  parted  with  his  associates  at 
the  hitching-post  he  spoke  only  one  word,  — 
"  Gosh !  " 


($be  fttocrside 

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